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THE 


Old House on Briar Hill. 


by 

ISABELLA GRANT MEREDITH. 

'1 



NEW YORK : 

DODD & MEAD, PUBLISHERS, 

762 Broadway. 





Entered according to Act of Congress, in the year 1875, by 

DODD & MEAD, 

In the office of the Librarian of Congress, at Washington. 




TO “MINNIE,” 

FOR REMEMBRANCE. 






/ 







CONTENTS. 


CHAPTER I. page 

Myrrh and Frankincense n 

CHAPTER n. 

Storm after Storm 19 

CHAPTER III. 

Taking up the Burden 29 

CHAPTER IV. 

"Something attempted, Something done.” 39 

CHAPTER V. 

The King’s Daughters 55 

CHAPTER VI. 

Betty’s Jewel 67 

CHAPTER VII. 

Shadows 77 

CHAPTER Vin. 

“ As we Forgive.” 89 

CHAPTER IX. 

Snowdrops 100 

CHAPTER X. 

In the Midst of Things m 

CHAPTER XI. 

Aunt Pen 122 

1 

CHAPTER XII. 

Grapes of Eschol..-. 134 

CHAPTER XIII. 

Friends and Friends. 146 




CONTENTS. 

V 

CHAPTER XIV. page 

Gold in the Grey 157 

CHAPTER XV. 

Briars 169 

CHAPTER XVI. 

A Last Farewell 183 

CHAPTER XVII. 

Going Home... 192 

CHAPTER XVIII. 

Paul : A Memory 202 

CHAPTER XIX. 

On the Heights 214 

CHAPTER XX. 

Coming to Rights 226 

CHAPTER XXI. 

“ A Birthday-and-a-half.” 243 

CHAPTER XXII. 

Good Night 262 

CHAPTER XXIII. 

A Flower Diary 278 

CHAPTER XXIV. 

Honey Broth . . . . 295 

CHAPTER XXV. 

A Garden Party 308 

CHAPTER XXVI. 

Random Arrows. . . 322 

CHAPTER XXVII. 

Gala Days 339 


SWEET-BRIARS: 


O R. 

Over- Living. 


i. 


Myrrh and Frankincense. 


1 HE clock in the church belfry had told the hour 
with nine slow strokes its voice sounding plaintive 
and discordant through the storm. 

There was a long evening before them yet watching 
the Old Year out, and waiting for Roy. 

Gwin sat curled up in a corner of the fire place, her 
elbows on her knees, and her fingers thrust among her 
short, curly locks. Her brows were thoughtfully knitted, 
and she gazed at the red embers with a far-away look in 
her eyes. 

Betty, in the mother’s chair, rocked uneasily and sighed 
often, sure signs of a crisis in her troubles. But Gwin, 
usually so ready with words of cheer took no notice, 
lost as she was in the bog of her own perplexities Yet 


12 


TH E OLD HOUSE 


when Persi? on her sofa stirred softly tc draw the shawl 
more closei} about her shoulders. Gwin quickly aroused, 
glanced around, stretched forth a hesitating hand to- 
wards the hearth and with a little defiant nod, as if an- 
swering some unspoken scruple, stirred and replenished 
the waning fire 

• O. is n I it forlorn ' ' sighed Betty with an illustrative 
shiver. 

• Was it quite prudent. Gwin ?" Persis gently asked. 

• I wonder/ continued Betty in tones that were sadly 
tinged with bitterness and scorn of the situation, “ if we 
shall have tc go on counting the cost all our lives.” 

“ Unless we can find- something better to do,” was 
Gwin s significant answer. 

Do! What can we do, except endure!” cried 
Betty • We are bound hand and foot ; — and yet there 
ought to be no such cruel need. I hate this misery of 
having to keep up appearances,' when everybody 
knows- 

A hoc flush crimsoned Gwin’s face, but she made no 
answer and silence again fell upon the group. 

It was a wild night without, — a dismal ending to a 
dismal year. The winter wind blew gustily about the 
house, and drove the falling sleet sharply against the 
window-panes. It was such a night as makes the warmth 
and cheer of the home fireside more cosily luxurious from 
contrast with the bleak dreariness without ; yet little of 
cheer brightened the fireside of the Norths, for two gaunt, 
unbidden guests, intruding phantom-like upon the little 
circle, kept their hearts heavy, and the hearth cold. 



ON BRIAR HILL. 


*3 


“ I wish — " began Betty presently ; but she stopped in 
shame It seemed so selfish to speak ot one's foolish 
wants when such thickening clouds of trouble hung heavy 
over the house Persis who had been lying a long time 
with her hand ovet her eyes, looked at her sister with a 
soft smile, and said kindly : — 

“This is hard for you dear' You never knew such 
gloomy holidays before.’ 

“ It seems long since I have known any very gay ones ; 
either, but we have always contrived some little festival 
at Christmas, until now, and to give some presents, at 
New Year’s too trifling though they were. Betty 
faltered. It does hurt not to be able to' give mother 
anything.” 

“ I have been remembering,” said Persis,’ that one 
can never be too poor, or too unhappy tc give gifts and 
that we children might each bring to mother offerings of 
gold frankincense, and myrrh, if we would.” 

Gwin lifted her head, and turned towards Persis a 
bright, eager glance. 

“ Gifts are only symbols, you know, but we might 
bring her the real things,— the love, the willingness to 
help, and to bear, and be patient which they mean. 
Whatever our burden may be, mother s is so much 
heavier to bear,” said Persis sorrowfully, “ we ought to 
lighten it all that we can. If I could only go about, 

I could do a great deal, I know, for her and all of you. 
But I am put here, and it is meant that I should do the 
best that I can, with my maimed life. Still, although I 
am helpless, I am sure that I need not be altogether use- 


H 


THE OLD HOUSE 



less ; and I am going to begin this New Year to live the 
noblest that I can. If my life is * ruined,’ as I have heard 
people say, then I must plant ivy about it, and try to 
make the ruin beautiful.” 

Betty who had changed her seat for a low ottoman by 
the side of Persis' sofa, stooped and kissed the little, thin 
hand that elapsed her own. 

“ O, Percy ! how you always put me to shame ! Only 
think, while you were having such good thoughts, I was 
making myself miserable because affairs are so wretched 
here at home, and because — in these last years, — all the 
bright and happy things of life pass me by." 

“ But the gold, the frankincense, and myrrh,” put in 
Gwin. “ How shall we get the costly gifts ?” 

‘'Not without great pains, Gwin, but still, if we seek 
them, we shall find them. If we set out determined to 
make the year that is coming braver and brighter than 
the miserable year we are watching out, don’t you think 
it will be doing much to make mother’s burden lighter ? 
We know that her trials are heavy y^t with what brave 
patience she bears all the sorrow, all the shame ! She is 
like some heroic-hearted queen I have read of, too noble 
to complain . — but we know, and we suffer for her. Now, 
wouldn't it be truer sympathy to stay our tears and our 
murmurings, and to be brave for her ? We cannot pre- 
vent the evil that is bringing ruin upon us, — but isn’t 
there something better left to do, than to sit lamenting 
in the ashes? Can’t we over-live it ?” 

“Was that what you meant, Gwin, when you spoke of 
finding something better to do ?” asked Betty, 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


*5 


" Something like it — only not so great, Fersis is of 
the blood-royal and has kingly thoughts , while 1 am 
only a common-place body whose sphere is among the 
little things Go on Percy.’ 

“ I think you see what I mean. Gwin is toe glad 
hearted no* to wish tc glean all the sweet •' uses of 
adversity,' ano wc ail know that the patience courage 
and faith wc car bring tc cheerfully meet and beai out 
adversities will be bettei tc mother than gold oi precious 
stones. 

' Yes, said Betty. ‘ And a good deal like making 
bricks without straw. But while we are ‘over-living,' 
how are we to live? It seems as if every day is darker 
than the last, and how are we going to struggle on. when 
the worst happens ?’ 

“We shall have to learn self-denial I suppose and 
move out of Castle Sham,’ said Gwin stoutly ‘ Per- 
haps you may have to renounce Jouvin, and wear done 
ovet gloves to church , and l may have to try to be com- 
placent in a frocK with patched elbows. But that isn’t 
enough, either. We have got tc live as wel< as over 
live : and something must he done I have been wonder 
ing what work there is that a girl like me could do to 
help along. I don’t know much of anything that is use- 
ful, — but Pm ‘willin ! 

“ O, Gwin — Percy — must we go down even lower than 
we are already ?’ murmured Betty. 

“ ‘ Down V No, we are down quite low enough as it is — 
what I mean is not to stay here, but to toil, and climb, 
and struggle up out of it, somehow. I was born to live 


1 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


on the heights, and 1 will never be content to be a dweller 
in the valley. Which is allegorical, my dear !” said 
Gwin, with a sparkle of her old brightness. “ Percy’s 
thought was twin-sister to mine, only while I am strug- 
gling up to the hill-tops, she must be there already, to 
talk so serenely ot over-living all this.' 

*• / am not there, — and J have no heart for the toil and 
the climbing you talk about so heroically It seems 
visionary to me ! sighed Betty. Sometimes I wish I 
could go away and lose myself, never to be heard of 
again ; it is so cruet tc Know that people are beginning 
to talk about our — misfortunes !’ 

“We need not care so much for what they say, if it. is 
not our fault, ” said Gwin, reddening again. 

“ But we do ! We are miserable about it ! If it. was 
only loss of wealth and position, it would be hard enough 
to bear ! ” exclaimed Betty. “ But it seems so unjust that 
the innocent should suffer, and be dishonored, for the 
things they never did.” 

“ O, hush, Betty ! What use is it to murmur so ? We 
are not the only ones. There are millions far worse off 
than we, if that is any consolation to you ; I must say it 
isn’t to me ! As for being ‘ innocent ’ — I am not so sure 
that such grumblers as you and 1 have been these last 
months, are altogether ‘ without blame.’ However hard 
it seems, it is, after all, the life that has been appointed 
for us, and, as Percy says, let us try to make the best 
of it.” 

“ O, of course ! There isn’t anything else we can do, 
that I can see,” said Betty drearily. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


*7 


\ 


As Betty had truly said, it was forlorn in that room 
where they clustered close to the hearth, shuddering at 
the raging of the storm without, and finding but little 
comfort within. It was a grand old room, generously 
large, — too large for the economical fire on the hearth to 
warm , too large for the rich but worn furniture to hide 
in, and so the defects stood out unblushingly, to the per- 
petual torment and mortification of Betty, whose galled 
pride was kept sore and quivering in those days, and 
whose sensitive love of beauty was daily wounded by the 
sight of frayed and faded splendors that, as relics of bet- 
ter days and fortunes, were yet too modern to look as if 
they might have been “ handed down ” from her great- 
grandmother. 

Gwin — who had a brave heart, and a sort of high, 
hopeful courage, that would “ never say die ” — believing 
that while there was life there was always hope, and hold- 
ing it not only a poor, cowardly thing to sit down folding 
one's hands and submitting to evil, but a sort of rfeligion 
— “duty” she called it — to look on the bright side, or at 
least the pale grays, of even the darkest things,— Gwin, 
always a Lady Bountiful of scraps of comfort, advised 
Betty, when she found her bewailing over the “ decayed 
gentility” of the furniture to “ play they were ancestral 
heir-looms, and so give to the old things a halo of re- 
spectable antiquity.” 

But it was quite in character for Betty to disdain the 
best that Gwin could give, and scorn the furniture as 
* Rickety, tawdry old stuff without a vestige of respecta- 
bility clinging to it which was unjust to the solid, rich- 


i8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


ly-carved Honduras mahogany. But “ frayed chair- 
covers, and threadbare carpets, did not suggest the 
antique,' to her. 

“Well,'' Gwin answered pleasantly, “ at all events 
when the carpet gets worn into down right holes, we 
can see to it that the floor is kept white beneath. So, 
really, we shall not need to be ashamed.” 

And Betty, quick to catch her meaning, answered : — 

• You are so much better than I am ! I wish I could be 
more like you and Percy — and I do try ; but with all my 
efforts, I seem like the poor horse in the treadmill, never to 
get on, — and it is so discouraging !” 

Poor Gwin ! what could she say to comfort her sister, 
when even she, brave-hearted as she was, had so often 
during the year that was past, felt so discouraged. It is 
a hard trial for older people to sit and watch the slow ap- 
proach of ruin, —to know that it is steadily advancing 
day by day, like a great wave to engulf one, when all 
ways of escape to the safe shore are cut off. But at this 
point of despair, Gwin’s strong, hopeful nature, would 
come to her relief ; she could not, and would not believe 
that all ways of escape were ever cut entirely off, — only 
that it took clear eyes, and a brave soul, to find the right 
path. 

She had a comfortable trick of applying literally all the 
balm she could gather to her own wounds, as well as to 
those of her dearest, as once, when in her readings she 
came across the wise counsel : 

“ Fret not thyself, because of evil doers.” 

“ Hear that, now, Betty !” she exclaimed ; “ Isn’t it 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


*9 


odd, how the very good word, that I absolutely need, 
always comes to me, just like a fairy wish ? If I have a 
pronounced weakness, it is just that, — fretting myself be- 
cause of evil doers: I so want all the world to be good, 
and true, and honest, — to have millennial manners, you 
know • — and it seems so easy, if only people would begin 
to try i that I feel a constant itching at my finger-ends to 
twitch, and pull, and bend every body into shape, as I do 
with Rose’s hat of a Sunday. And here’s the strengthen- 
ing plaster, that just fits the place! Isn’t it odd, — and 
lucky ?” 


II. 


Storm after Storm. 

Shortly after the little clock struck ten, the door opened, 
and a sweet-faced woman entered the room. 

The waving hair that rippled softly about her fore- 
head, was sprinkled with the snows of sorrow rather than 
of age ; but a sweet patience smiled on her lips, and a 
trustful serenity illumined the dear face, which had once 
inspired Betty to say : 

“ It has all the mother-beauty of our Madonna there, 
with none of its woe. If I could paint, my Madonnas 
should have just such a look. The Mater-Dolorosa is 
horrible to me, it is so earthly— si course, it isn’t culti- 


20 


THE OLD HOUSE 


vated of me to think so, and I shouldn’t dare say it be- 
fore anybody but you girls ! — No, my Madonnas should 
have mother’s look, — something exalted and blest in the 
eyes and smile — faith victorious over all that dreadful 
agony, and the glory of the halo about her head, making 
all her face to shine.” 

And Persis had answered : 

“ Her look is as if she had lifted her eyes unto the hills 
whence cometh our help, never to cast them down again, 
and the shadow of the glory had filled them.” 

With her, into the dreary room, came a sense of warmth 
and comfort, such as only the mother’s coming can bring 
to her children. 

*' Has not Roy come yet ?” she asked, as Betty rose to 
draw a chair nearer to the fire, and Gwin with one poke 
at the smouldering logs, sent the little flames leaping and 
singing, as if they had been doing nothing else all the 
evening ; while Persis, as the only thing she in her help- 
less state could do to increase the good cheer, smiled up 
so brightly in her mother’s eyes, that every shadow of 
worry flitted from her face. 

The mother surrendered herself smilingly, while her 
daughters made this little, joyful bustle over her, re- 
membering that they had so little left to be glad for, now ; 
and when Betty had subsided on a cushion at her feet, 
her head pillowed on her mother’s knee in the luxury of 
content ; and Gwin, curled up on the soft rug, had pro- 
nounced it “ snug and cosy,”— which it really took a vivid 
imagination to do and believe so heartily, Mrs. North 
answered pleasantly — 




ON ^RIAR HILL. 


21 


" Yes, my little girls, however close to the fire we may 
have to draw, this bitter weather, — our circle is not 
broken yet, so we have still much to be thankful for. 
Let us always try to count our blessings, instead of 
weighing our burdens. And isn’t it the greatest of bless- 
ings that this year that is going, and seems so dark to look 
back upon, has at least spared us to each other, — for what 
should I do without my little girls and Roy ; and what 
would they do without me ? 

Here Betty squeezed her mother’s hand in a sort of mute 
eloquence, and Gwin’s great eyes gleamed and sparkled 
as if filled with unshed tears. But a faint, swift shadow 
fell across Persis’s face, as she thought regretfully : 

“ Of what use am I, with my spoiled life ; only a dead 
weight, a heavy cross laid on all these dear should- 
ers ! 

“ And I thought, as I sat by Rose, to-night, and heard 
her say her prayers," said the mother, presently, speak- 
ing in the same strong, sweet voice — “ that this darkness 
that has gathered round us, is but * the shadow of His 
wings,’ — the shadow He permits to fall upon us, and 
which He will lift some day. We must be patient— re- 
membering that whom He loveth, He chasteneth ; and 
being sure of that, I think we can bear, if not quite re- 
joice, in any seeming, evil that comes to us." 

“ That is a good thought, to let the Old Year go with, 
mother,” said Persis, the shadow quite gone now, from 
her face. “ And I had need of it, too, for the Old Year 
made a sorry change in my life !” glancing down at her 
helpless limbs. “ But I will remember that, when I get 


22 


THE OLD HOUSE 


unhappy, or impatient, and if I _?nust be your cross, I will, 
at least, try to be an easy one to bear.” 

With such tender talk, the hours slipped away, until 
the midnight chimes in the village belfry rang out the 
Old Year, and rang in the New. 

The girls were so quick and eager with their New 
Year’s wishes, that they made 'a joyful chorus of it, — in 
voices almost as glad as in the old, happier time. It was 
not until after the door closed on her mother that Betty 
said, — 

“ But it seems a mere mockery, doesn’t it, to be wish- 
ing ‘ A Happy New Year,’ to anybody in this house ?” 

“ Not if you really mean it,” answered Gwin. “I do l 
and so I mean to make it ‘ come true.’ Why not ? I 
can look back now, and see what I might have done, and 
didn’t do, to make things pleasanter, and I am going to 
take up all my dropped stitches this year. And you see, 
if we all do our best, there will be five parts of honey to 
one of gall.” 

“ Five gills to a gallon !” said Betty, with a scomtul 
bitterness, for which Gwin felt only the tenderest pity. 

Laying her arm around her sister’s shoulder, she said 
with patient sweetness : — 

“ But you will try, Betty, for mother’s sake ?” 

“ And Betty, quickly touched, hid her face in Gwin’s 
neck, and answered in a little sob ; — 

“I’ll try , Gwin.” 

“We will all try,” echoed Persis. “Somewhere I 
once read this, and I have never forgotten it, though I 
have forgotten where it came from. Listen, girls ! 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 3 


‘Sculptors of Life are we as we stand 
With our souls uncarved before us, 

Waiting the hour when at God’s command. 

Our life-dream passes o’er us. 

4 If we carve it then on the yielding stone 
With many a sharp incision, 

Its Heavenly beauty will be our own. 

And our lives that angel-vision.’ 

It has come to me so often, since I have had nothing 

to do but to lie here and think I don’t want to be 

a failure — a something that might just as well never have 
been born, for all the good 1 I have ever done ; and per- 
haps even one so crippled as I am may have a work that 
is worth while to do, and come to be in the end, not only 
patient, but strong-hearted and cheerful. I have a fancy 
to turn sculptor, girls, and make a work-shop of my sofa — 
but you must not be surprised if my tools are very trifling 
things. I shall only carve an acorn, — but from that some 
one else may draw inspiration for the oak. We never 
know what ‘ better ’ may grow out of our best. The 
e life-dream ’ has come to me vaguely, but as I work, I 
shall have clearer sight— so I shall go to my carving, this 
New Year, and you shall be my critics — you, and mother, 
and Roy.” 

“Father,” alas I was always left unspoken, since the 
name could no longer be uttered by them except with 
hurried faltering voices ; and any allusion to him in their 
talks together brought crimsoning cheeks, and a troubled 
sense of wrong and shame. 

It was the father who had brought all this weight of 


24 


THE OLD HOUSE 


\ 




trouble and grief on his once happy and prosperous 
household. 

Through him, came the haunting shadow that made 
his daughters’ fair, girlish faces gloomy with dread, and 
kept their brave young hearts heavy with fear. Through 
him all the once generous hospitality of their home, all 
the elegant ease and grace of their lives had been re- 
placed by poverty, and those galling Economies that are 
simple honesty, yet look like meanness to those who do 
not know the stern necessities which compel the strict 
counting of pennies. 

“We used to live like the roses in the garden,” Betty 
complained ; “ in a sort of sunshiny, perfumy, untrimmed 
luxuriance. But now, we live like the grape-vine, that 
throws out branches and tendrils everywhere, only to get 
a severe pruning back, to a bare, unattractive stalkiness.” 

“ It isn’t so graceful, but it bears better,” suggested 
Gwin, who, for the life of her, could not on most occasions 
help making the best of things, until often Betty, and 
sometimes even Persis, was compelled to wonder at her. 

And at such times it was funny to see Gwin pull a 
little, deprecating face, and assert half apologetically : 

“ I can’t help it, girls ! I suppose I am a humdrum 
sort of specimen, and it comes easy for me to grub along 
contentedly enough, because I have not ambitions and 
lofty aims like you. I don’t believe I should ever fret 
myself very much about anything, if it wasn’t for—” 

She would stop abruptly, dropping her head, and flush- 
ing painfully. But there was no need for her to finish 
her sentence ; each knew what neither could speak. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


25 


As Betty said, all the grace and beauty had slipped out 
of their lives, “ severely pruned away ” with an unsparing 
hand ; and one trial after another had come, after the 
cruel manner of misfortunes, to make the struggle 
harder. 

Three or four slow years had crept away, and people 
only knew, or guessed from their gradually altered style 
of living, “ that Professor North had met with mis- 
fortunes.” 

The worst — that sad home secret had still been kept 
loyally hidden away, until that dreadful day when, all 
smiling and hopeful, they had put into execution a loving 
plan, whereby the three sisters had hoped to build them- 
selves like a wall of defense around the “ poor father,” to 
be always near him, to stand between him and the 
temptations he could no longer resist. 

To “save poor father!” they had hopefully planned, 
and secretly prayed. Persis had claimed it as her privi- 
lege, being the eldest, to begin the dutiful work. 

In accordance with their carefully devised scheme she 
had begged her father to take her a drive that day. To 
himself, and his children, he had always been indulgent 
to a fault. He had no power to say no, and mean it — 
' either to himself or them. He complied at once ; indeed, 
they had counted on that success for their simple loving 
wiles, but, later, when he drove up to the gate for her, 
Persis, who stood waiting there, marked his flushed face, 
his wandering eyes stupidly good-natured, his shaking 
hands, and felt hope die in her heart ; but went on brave- 
ly, in her self-appointed task, remembering that no great 


2 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


work was ever done without many failures, and repeated 
efforts. 

Poor, faithful Persis ! They thought her dead, at first, 
when she was borne home to them, white, lifeless and 
crushed. It was long before they dared even hope that 
she might be spared to live the “ ruined life ” that was 
before her. Persis, herself, did not seem to care for it, 
until one dim midnight, when she lay waking, she heard 
her mother who watched beside her, murmur, softly : 

“ My comfort ! How can I let her go !” 

That gave her the wish and the courage to live. 

After that sorrowful day there were many whisperings, 
and much shaking of heads in the village. 

Keen eyes spied after Professor North, and gossiping 
tongues set rumors afloat that unhappily were not all 
idle. And there was a bitter experience in store for 
Betty, whose school-mates and acquaintances began to 
deal out to her a condescending kind of pity, with an 
I-am-better-than-thou air, which her proud and sensitive 
spirit could ill endure. 

With their fortune wrecked, and their old, proud name 
over-shadowed, came the dread that their father might 
not long perform his duties acceptably, and when that 
last blow came, — when publicly cast out from the honor- 
able places, what would remain for them, the innocent 
sufferers ? 

The minutes had ticked away solemnly to the first 
half-hour of the New Year, and the hands of the clock 
had given a little hitch of warning, when Persis happen- 


1 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


27 


ing to glance up caught Betty vainly endeavoring to stifle 
a yawn. 

“ Roy must surely come soon, now, for the last train is 
in,” she said at once ; “ and you should not sit up any 
longer girls. Gwin, dear, if you will fold another shawl 
about my feet, I can doze here very comfortably until he 
comes.” 

“ No ; we won’t leave you to wait alone, Percy,” the 
sisters exclaimed. 

“ I hope you will go. You will be so much brighter 
to-morrow. Besides, I am at rest here ; it does not 
matter to me, whether it is the sofa or the bed, I am so 
used to both, and it isn’t like sitting up.” 

And in her gentle way, she persuaded them to leave her. 

As they crossed the dark passage-way a stumbling foot 
was heard on the steps ; the outer-door burst open let- 
ting in a gust of bitter wind, and a dark figure that swayed 
on unsteady feet, as it groped stealthily through the great 
hall, and disappeared within a room where a light was 
dimly burning, where they knew their mother watched 
and waited. 

Betty had crouched on the dark stair, close to Gwin, 
holding her hand fast. 

“ O, Gwin — it was — he /” she said with a nervous 
shiver. 

“ Poor father,” sighed Gwin sorrowfully. And hand in 
hand they crept slowly up to their room, carrying heavy 
hearts. 

Once there, instead of undressing, Betty drew aside the 
curtain, and gazed out at the wild night. 


28 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ How cruel everything seems. What a bitter dawn- 
ing for the New Year, it is," she murmured, thinking not 
so much of the storm on which she looked as of the scene 
she had just witnessed in the hall. 

“ Why couldn’t we have been spared — what have we 
ever done that we should have to suffer so ! . . . . Gwin, 
Gwin," she cried, “what shall we do !" 

“ The best we can, always, I suppose, my dear Faint- 
Heart," Gwin, who had already “come to the tops," an- 
swered bravely, though her teeth chattered with the cold. 
“ At least that’s the sensible thing. We’ll fight the good 
fight, — renounce the pomps and vanities of new gloves 
and fresh ribbons, and all the sinful lusts of the flesh — 
perhaps I should say dyspeptic, though, — like Christmas 
pudding and New Year’s goodies ; and we’ll denounce 
‘Satan and all his works,' every chance we get. O, 
there’s plenty to do — and so, we’ll be virtuous at any 
rate, whether we get the cakes and ale, or have to go 
without !” 

“ O, but you see I want the cakes and ale too," Betty 
confessed with a piteous sigh. She crept closer to the 
window, and peered out at a dark form rapidly moving 
up the snow-drifted path. 

“ Here is Roy coming ! I wonder what he has on his 
arm. It can’t be his cloak — no — it is a great basket.” 

“ A great basket," echoed Gwin sitting up in bed, in v 
her surprise. “ I wonder what Roy can be doing with a 
basket !” 

Then the hall-door closed, and silence fell upon the 
house. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 9 


III. 

Taking up the Burden. 

Gwin awoke in the cheerless gray of the bleak morning, 
and remembered, with a little shiver, what lay before her 
if she really carried out the plans that had made her so 
thoughtful a few hours before. Things look so differently 
in the cold, unbecoming light of day ! That which the 
glow of the evening fire mellowed almost to attractive- 
ness, showed at dawn with all its ruggedness magnified. 

“Heigh-ho!’’ sighed Gwin softly. “The rose color 
is all gone, and it looks bluish ! Sometimes I can’t 
help thinking that it would be kind of nice if one never 
thought at all. But things will come into one’s head, 
about duty and all that, — and then what are you going to 
do? You can't pretend to yourself that you never 
thought of 'em ; and so you’re in for it, whether you like 
it or not. I am afraid I don’t like it at all, just at this 
moment, — I’m awfully sleepy— but here goes ! ” 

And with the word she crept out of bed and com- 
menced dressing, taking care not to disturb Betty, whose 
least miserable hours were those in which slie could sleep 
and forget. 

Sorrow and anxiety, the mother said, had made her 
little girls old before their time. Their trouble had at 
least bound them together m tenderest love, and made 
them thoughtful for each other in many ways. 

“ If it is true,’ 7 Gwin had said, in a burst of her gay 
wisdom, “ that 'sweet are the uses of adversity,’ we will 


3 ° 


THE OLD HOUSE 


draw all the honey out of ours. It will seem to comfort 
us for the bitterness that comes with it.” 

“Adversity may be a sweetener for some people,” 
Betty had honestly confessed. “ but it is not for me. The 
fret, and worry, and more than all else, the shame of it, 
.makes me crab-apple-y. I think I can quite understand 
how it is that people are soured — I’ve had experiences ! 
One might be proud to struggle and bear torments for 
the sake of some grand object that was to benefit the 
whole world— I shouldn’t like to have been a martyr, but 
I wouldn’t mind a good deal of starvation for the sake of 
fame, if going hungry would make me an artist ! — but 
when I feel my face all on fire with shame at trying to 
‘keep up appearances,' or at doing any other shabby 
thing because I ?nust, I get into awful depths of disposi- 
tion, and it frightens me to know that there are such 
dark places in me. . . Oh, I could be so good, if every- 
thing was sweet, and sunshiny, and comfortable, it would 
be a pleasure just to know me ! ” And Betty would laugh 
at hersell, even while quite in earnest, and believing all 
that she said. 

“ But we have had that pleasure,” urged Gwin, laugh- 
ing too, “ and now there is a chance made for you to cul- 
tivate some new laurels. Don’t you think one would 
grow tired of the sweet and sunshiny days if they made 
up the whole year? For my part, I like rainy days, and 
I love to run out in the wild autumn storms, an<j be 
blown about by the winds. And sometimes I almost pity 
the bees — but I suppose their nature helps them to bear 
such a bright-colored and sticky existence. I imagine 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


3 1 


\ 


that after unlimited honey one always has wholesome 
longings for hominy.” 

“ And what after unlimited hominy, Gwin ? ” 

“ That’s according to your taste — and purse. Some- 
thing spicy — anchovy sandwiches, perhaps, — for you. 
But .that’s a side issue, as they .say in the debating club ; 
the honey and hominy don’t really matter. Mother says 
it is not what happens, but what use we make of the 
happenings, that is of real importance. We make our 
own lives, you see.” 

“ No,” said Betty. “ You can’t say that, Gwin. Life 
is like a great canvas, with the outlines of a picture al- 
ready traced, and you’ve got to work on it, whether you 
like the design or not.” 

“ All right,” said Gwin. “ Anyhow, you can choose 
your own colors.” 

Dear Gwin ! Like the little girl in the pretty fairy 
story, she sometimes talked rubies and diamonds, only 
she never knew it ; as she herself would have said, it was 
her * nature to.’ 

As she dressed, all her sleepiness was forgotten in 
thinking over some of the plans she had made for this 
New Year. If they were not Very ambitious, as they cer- 
tainly were not, at least there were enough of them to 
make a very respectable-sized burden for her young 
shoulders. Her spirits rose as she prepared to put the 
most difficult of these into operation, and tiptoed down 
stairs, past her mother’s door, to Cynthia’s domain, 
where the domestic fires were all gone out, and a cheer- 


3 2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


less aspect prevailed, owing to the holiday absence of 
that priestess. 

“We were such a set of owls last night,” said Gwin, 
talking to herself to keep up a social appearance, “ that 
mother is safe to sleep a while longer, and give me a 
chance to try what genius I can develop by myself. 
Robin Goodfellow, I’m disappointed in you ! How is it 
that your little people forgot me last night ? Didn’t you 
know I should need your help, or did you think it was in 
me to help myself? If so, I accept the apology ! Let’s 
see : fire comes first on the list of civilization, and here 
are the matches — though for that matter, I do suppose I 
could manage without them. I know a dozen dodges for 
lighting my fire if ever I get cast away on a desert island 
— laid ’em up in my mind expressly for some such occa- 
sion — but just now, I’ll make use of the modern improve- 
ments. Now — oh ! yes — Chips ? ” 

She twisted a worsted scarf, turban-wise about her 
head, drew on some large clumsy mittens, and, basket in 
hand, set out for the woodshed. 

The fire once laid and lighted, forebore its usual capri- 
cious vagaries, and neither smoked nor declined to “draw,” 
but accepted its destiny, and crackled and sputtered in a 
most amiable and pleasant manner. 

“That’s jolly,” said Gwin, in complimentary tones, as 
she filled and put on the shining copper tea-kettle ; and 
when the tea-kettle, promptly responding to the warm 
invitation of the blaze beneath, began to rock, and puff, 
and sing, with a genial enjoyment of its own perform- 
ances, Gwin was still farther tempted to speak her mind. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


33 


“ What a cosy, cneerful, little house-friend you are ! ” 
she exclaimed, in a glow of admiration. “ I mean to take 
that song of yours for a good omen. I don’t believe you 
sung it once last year ; you used to boil without so much 
as even humming it under your breath, I am almost pos- 
itive. And now, there you are rocking, and fairly bub- 
bling over with jollity, in a way calculated to make a per- 
son who has been low in her spirits — but whose name I 
will not mention — quite ashamed of herself.” 

Gwin next addressed herself to the task of getting 
breakfast. She prepared the table with unusual splen- 
dors of china, damask and silver, thinking with a faint 
smile, that lost itself in a sigh : 

“We will have a plentiful spread one way, if we can't 
another. I wish I could prepare as sumptuous a feast for 
the mouth as I can for the eyes : but one can't have 
everything.” 

With some reluctance sne next, proceeded to the pan 
try, where she felt that a Mother Hubbard experience 
awaited her. It was not, indeed, quite so bad as in that 
celebrated cupboard, but the reign of plenty had long 
ceased, and the prospect was not promising. However, 
she found on one shelf a remnant of the last joint, and 
on another a bowl of cold potatoes, which, together with 
the chopping-knife and tray, she brought out to the 
kitchen table. 

Already it was so pleasant there, with the fire diffus- 
ing a delightful warmth, the kettle bubbling energetically, 
the comfortable tortoise-shell cat blinking and purring 
before the hearth, and through the eastern window, veiled 


34 


THE OLD HOUSE 


with the green, trailing sprays of a strawberry geranium, 
a faint ray or two of pale sunshine giving promise of a 
fair day. 

“ Now bones, bones, -do your duty ! ” Gwin exclaimed, 
after the manner of the genii of the Arabian Nights, as 
she prepared, knife in hand, to attack the joint. “ Let us 
see what virtue there is in hash and genius combined. 
French people never throw awdy bones, they say, and I 
will not, though you don’t look as if there could be much 
in you. But maybe you’ll have goodness enough left to 
disguise some potatoes and carrots as an Irish stew ; with 
quite a meaty flavor.” 

So Gwin, singing a snatch, or talking to keep hetself 
“bolstered up with nonsense,” went busily to and fro, 
until the coffee was made, and all was ready, which fact 
she announced by a very lively solo performance on the 
breakfast bell. 

“ What have you there ? ” asked Betty, with a wonder, 
ing glance at the rather roomy platter, with the minced 
meat reposing on slips of crispy toast, ornamented with 
rings of lemon, and making the most of itself. 

“ Hash,” Gwin answered, laughingly. “ But don’t de- 
spise it, Betty. It is a triumph of art, and if you can 
oniy manage to forget your prejudice against the name, I 
am sure you’ll admit that you never tasted such a dish.” 

“Isn’t it beautiful?” cried little Rose, who had already 
mounted to her seat, for her seven years of life had not 
yet enabled her to reach the grown-up dignity of a low 
chair at table. Her blue eyes sparkled, as she turned her 
darling face, dimpling with smiles, toward Gwin. “/ 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


35 


know who has made it so pretty ! Cynthia never does 
anything half so nice as this. It was my Gwin. O, — 
why — I’ve got my prettiest china plate and cup : ” 

Upon which agreeable discovery, the little creature felt 
impelled to slip down from her chair and run around the 
table to give her Gwin an extra hug of delight. 

“Of course!” Gwin answered. “You don't suppose 
I was going to let the Lady Rose-in -bloom eat a com- 
monplace breakfast, off humdrum crockery, on New 
Year’s morning, I hope. Why, who ever heard of such 
a thing? ” 

Rose climbed again into her chair, where presently her 
little face lost its delighted look, the smiles and dimples 
being eclipsed by a grave expression, as she surveyed the 
table. 

“But there isn’t very much breakfast, is there? And 
I am pretty hungry,” said “Lady Rose-in-bloom. ’’ 

“If there should not be enough/' said Gwin, “you 
must <lo as the Spanish gentleman did, when he had for 
his dinner only a few small cherries, and put on magni- 
fying glasses to make them look bigger/' 

Gwin s unflagging cheeriness helped to make the meal 
go off in a livelier manner than they had known for many 
months. The dear chatterbox was so lavish with her 
merry nonsense, which she offered them as a “ relish,” 
that even Betty was drawn for the moment out of her sad 
discontent, and made to forget that the coffee was rather 
weak ; that her cup was rather scrimped in the matter of 
sugar and cream. 


36 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Roy’s manner was all that could be desired, as he gayly 
complimented the ‘hash,’ 5 and declared a wish that Gwin 
could always rule the roast, instead of Cynthia — a chance 
speech which gave Gwin a surprising amount of satisfac- 
tion, until her quick eyes noticed that Roy was perpetu- ' 
ally casting anxious glances towards one and another of 
them, but most frequently towards Betty. 

As for Rose, she almost lost her appetite in her happy 
excitement, over the unwonted grandeur of breakfasting 
off that sacred rose china ; but she prattled continually, 
and much admired the method of the Spanish gentleman, 

'* O, Rose, you are but a very young bud yet, to find 
that amusing, * said Betty, with a touch ol disdain. “For 
my part, I do despise pretenses.” 

“ Is that all you see in the story ? ” asked Mrs. North. 

“ 1 was admiring the simplicity of it. To me it seems at 
once noble and touching to accept misfortune with so 
much resignation, and to make the best of it so philo- 
sophically. That, I suppose, is the moral.'' 

“Dear me!” cried Betty, impatiently. “Everything 
that happens nowadays has got its moral tacked to it. It 
never used to be so, and I don’t like it. We might just 
as well be a Book of Fables, if we’ve got to be perpetu- 
ally bored with the morals of every event.” 

Rose thought it would be a pleasant state of things, 
because in fables all the animals talk so that you can un- 
derstand them, and she was very curious to know what 
Mrs. Micawber, the cat, said to her pretty tortoise-shell 
twins. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


37 


“ Perhaps there have been fables ail along, ’ said Roy, 
“ only we never thought of trying to look into them in 
the old times. We hadn’t grown up to the meanings of 
things/' 

“ Roy, you are too cruel 1 Pray, don’t suggest that this 
wearisome sort of work is what people are to expect as 
they grow older ! It is as bad as being a gold-digger — • 
always delving in the dirt and dark for the precious grains 
that may not be there, after all.” 

“ I suppose the gold-diggers forget the fatigue of the 
work in the hope of the profit,” said Roy, smiling. 

“Oh, well,” said Betty, “ you can make allegories mean 
almost anything you choose. But I don’t like them, either 
to read or to live.” 

“‘The old fashions please me best,’” quoted Gwin, 
laughingly. “ But how you have wandered from my 
hidalgo.” 

“To return to our cherries, then,” said Betty. “He 
deceived himself, and the truth wasn’t in his magnifying 
glasses. He was 'making believe.’ I suppose it was 
philosophical, as mother puts it. But ‘ making the best 
of it ’ isn’t in me, I am afraid. I hope I shall not be 
tried , at all events.” 

As she uttered this wish, Persis, on her sofa near the 
fire, glanced across at Roy, who, meeting her eyes, ans- 
wered their troubled expression with a smile full of cour- 
age and good cheer. Soon after he left the table; and 
pausing as he passed Percy, said to her in a low tone : 

“ She is in a brave mood— for her ; and there is no use 
in putting it off. You must tell her, Percy and you can 


38 


THE OLD HOUSE 


make her see that it was the best — the only thing to be 
clone — if any one can. I am going to tell mother, the 
moment I can get her to myself.” 

A general stir and moving away from the table inter- 
rupted him. Mrs. North prepared a tray of toast and 
coffee, with which she was leaving the room, when Roy 
came up and took it out of her hands, saying : 

“ Let me carry it for you, mother.” 

Betty yawned drearily, glanced around the hopeless 
room, that no amount of dusting and arranging could 
ever' again make beautiful in her eyes, and listlessly 
strolled towards the window, wondering what there was 
that it would be worth her while to try to do. 

But midway, Percy’s voice 'arrested her. 

“Betty, dear,” she said, in her caressing tones, “ come 
and sit by me. I want to talk with you. There is some- 
thing Roy wishes me to tell you.” 

“ R'oy ! ” exclaimed Betty. Then, remembering how 
late he had been the night before, she glanced quickly 
into her sister’s face, half fearing what was to come. But 
Persis smiled back at her, and her face held such a quiet 
content that Betty felt reassured, and lightly asked : 

“ What is it ? Nothing but good tidings, I hope ? ” 

“ They are to me,” Percy answered. “ And, dear 
Betty, knowing who sends them to us, I wonder if there 
can really be any tidings, or any happenings, that are not 
‘good.’” 

“O, Percy, are you ‘preparing’ me for something? 
Has anything happened to Roy ? Is it very dreadful ? ” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


39 


she asked piteously, as if Persis had it in her power to 
spare her, if she only would. 

“Not dreadful at all,” said Percy, softly stroking her 
sister’s hand, that had been put out pleadingly. “ Only 
it is something that I know you will not like. I am 
afraid, dear, you are going to be ‘ tried.’ ” 


IV. 

“ Something Attempted ; Something Done.” 

Gwin, in her busy, housekeeperly fashion, having gath- 
ered up all the cups and silver, brought in a little tub of 
hot water, a mop, and a large, checked bib, which latter 
she held out invitingly. 

“ Come, my Rose, what do you say to being useful as 
well as sweet ? ” 

Which was all a transparent ruse on Gwin’s part, for 
<iever was Rose so important or so pleased as when per- 
mitted to reign over the little tub and mop. 

“ There you are, tray, towels, and all ! And ye’ll plaze 
to bear it in mind, mum, not to be wastin’ the soap, nor 
breakin’ the best chaney, which I’ve piled up forninst ye, 
convaynient.” 

Rose’s new dignity could not withstand Gwin’s com- 
icality, and she bubbled over with a peal of laughter it 


4 o 


THE OLD HOUSE 


did G win’s heart good to hear, that “ member ” having 
been rather heavy with the memory of the slender break- 
fast she had eked out for the darling with nonsense and 
pretty china. 

She bobbed a funny courtesy, in keeping with her ac- 
cent, and departed, leaving Rose to operate in busy 
silence. 

It took the little girl a long time to finish her task, she 
was so faithful over little things, so careful of her charge, 
so nice with her washings, rinsings and polishing ; but 
this was precisely what Gwin had counted upon. 

“ She won’t miss anything if she is kept happily busy,” 
thought the elder sister, as on the other side of the kitch- 
en door she dropped the extravagant burlesque of Biddy 
McQuirk, who had once acted as Cynthia’s assistant, and 
whose queernesses had been an unfailing source of amuse- 
ment for Rose, ever since. 

There were many things on her side of the door that 
gave Gwin uneasiness ; or rather, it was not so much the 
things that were there, as the things that were not. 

On her chip-expedition she had seen with dismay how 
fast the supply of fuel was dwindling away, in spite of a 
forlornly close economy ; in her pantry and larder explo- 
rations she had marked the barrenness of the land with 
increasing heaviness of heart. 

“ We’re in the Wilderness, sure enough ; but I wonder 
where I am to look for the quails and manna ! . . What a 
beautiful time that was, if the Children had only kbown 
it ! To be led by the Father’s visible guiding— a pillar 
of fire by night, a pillar of cloud by day. . . And who 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


4 1 


knows — who knows, but that even now His children are 
led in the same way ! Oh, if these troubles should be 
only our ‘pillar of cloud,’ and I could be sure of it, — I 
think I could bear anything that may come ! ” 

But that was the trouble. She could not be absolutely 
sure whether their troubles were of the Love that chas- 
tens, or of the Evil that is permitted to be ; and she had 
not yet learned that all things may work together for 
good. 

The sickening sense of keeping the family on short ra- 
tions, even while she was doing her best, returned upon 
her as she cracked the beef-bones for their final “ duty,” 
and left them simmering in the saucepan, while, candle 
in hand, she explored the dusky recesses of the great cel- 
lar for carrots, turnips, and such other vegetables as she 
could find in the bins ; but finding so few of any kind, 
wondered to herself how some slices of apple would work 
in, and had half a mind to try it. 

“But no,” she decided. “We ought to have two 
courses at least on New Year’s Day, and we will! One 
for dinner, and one for tea. Baked apples will be 
sumptuous ! ” 

j Her pan filled, she mounted the stairs again, saying 
cheerfully, just to encourage herself : 

“ Yes. Something must be done ! ” 

What, or how, she did not know in the least, but the 
thought that a brave “ something ” was possible made 
her strong, and on the other side she would not look, as- 
suring herself that “people could not go to pieces like 
the ‘ one hoss shay’ — it wouldn’t be useful at all.” And 


4 2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ something ” had been bravely done, although she did 
not know of it, as yet. 

She was at the table, preparing her vegetables, when 
Betty came in, and stood dejectedly before the stove. 

“ Isn’t it nice and warm here ? ” Gwin asked, without 
looking around from her work. “ I always think there is 
something particularly cosy and comfortable about a nice, 
tidy kitchen — when Cynthia isn't in it to domineer over 
one. She seems to regard it in the light of a solemn duty 
to groan at the meat and sniff over the sauces ; but when 
she’s away, and I am sole monarcti of the pot-hooks and 
pantry, I really do enjoy it here. Do you know, I’ve more 
than half a mind to make Cynthia abdicate in my favor ? 
I should love to be mother’s little handmaid, and I’m sure 
I could do nicely, with patience, and * Mis Blynn ’ to fall 
back on in the washing and scrubbing emergencies. You 
see, Betty, I am rather puffed up at the success of my 
hash ! ” 

“ O, Gwin — Gwin ! ” cried Betty, in tones of despair. 
“Don't run on so ! You couldn’t if you knew what has 
happened to poor Roy ! ” 

“Roy! What?” 

“Oh, the worst— the very worst — that could come, 
now.” 

“ Betty ! ” gasped Gwin, growing pale to her very lips, 
and leaning heavily against the dresser. “What is it — 
quick — tell me?” 

“ He has given up everything — all his chances, his hon- 
ors, his prospects, — all that would have kept us in our 
own place here, and redeemed our name. Hedias left his 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


43 


class, Gwin, — thrown up his studies, profession, every- 
thing. He is going to be a mechanic, or a merchant, or 
something that will bring in money faster. And my heart 
is broken,” said poor Betty, pathetically. “ I don’t know 
what Archie will think when he hears of this wretched 
business.” 

“ Dear ! how you frightened me ! I declare, it gave me 
quite ‘a turn.’ And is that all? . . . Dear boy, he has 
won his spurs sooner than we thought he would ! ” 

“ How can you take it that way ? ” Betty looked ut- 
terly surprised. 

“ Reaction, my dear. Your ‘worst’ prepared me for 
something so awful, the blow isn’t half so bad as I ex- 
pected.” 

“ And I feel so grieved and crushed ! It is the ‘ last 
feather.’ ” 

“ O, Betty ! I feel proud of him. Just think of all he 
has given up — his lifelong wish and ambition ! How 
noble he is ! Dear fellow, he doesn’t deserve that we, for 
whom he does it, should make it harder for him by show- 
ing less self-denial and courage.” 

“I know it,” answered Betty, sadly. “Percy said the 
very same thing, and tried to comfort me by making out 
Roy a hero. But the trouble is, / am not a heroine, and 
it is such a blow to all my hopes and pride, Gwin.” 

With that confession, she went disconsolately away. 

Gwin, with her chin propped on the palms of her 
hands, and her elbows resting on the kitchen table, sat in 
deep thought, forgetful of her self-assumed responsibili- 
ties, when the door opened, and Roy thrust his head in. 


44 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Queen of the Saucepan, may I have an audience ? ” 

“ Enter, Prime Minister, and help me hold a kitchen- 
cabinet council.” 

“ This smells savory,” he said, lifting the lid of the 
saucepan. “ What mess are you cooking now ? ” 

“ What mess have you been cooking, my lad ? ” retort- 
ed Gwin, with gay sauciness. 

“ Ah, Gwin, you nice child, what a comfort you are ! ” 
Roy exclaimed heartily, patting her on the shoulder. “ I 
half expected tears and lamentations, even from you.” 

‘“You wrong me every way; you wrong me, Bru- 
tus !’ ” put in Gwin, with a lackadaisical whine. Roy 
laughed. 

“Yes. But Betty went into the doldrums at once about 
it ; and even mother and Percy looked as sorry over me 
at first as if I were ‘ a funeral.’ And it demoralized me.” 

Gwin laughed, and did her best to wink away a gath- 
ering mistiness on her eyelashes without the ostentation 
of a handkerchief. 

“ And so you have given up everything for our sakes, 
Roy ? ” 

“ I ? Not a bit of it. I am going to fight the battle 
on new principles ; carry the war into the enemy’s coun- 
try. It is only a change of base.” 

•j “But how came you to do it, — and without our 
consent ? ” 

“ Do you want the long or the short of it ? ” 

“Both.” 

“ Gwin, I think you have been reasoning out the ‘long* 
yourself in all these weeks, when you’ve been going about 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


45 


with a smile on your lips, but a cloud in your eye. Did 
you suppose / would be slower than you to see the dan- 
ger that threatens ? My dear, I can do my sums in sub- 
traction as well as you ; and don’t I know that ‘ nothing 
from nothing you can’t ’ ? ” Roy put his two hands 
on her shoulders, and smiling down into her eyes, con- 
tinued more gravely. “ As for the ‘ short ’ of it — while I 
was in the midst of my hesitations, pros and cons mus- 
tering a good deal faster than I could marshal them, it 
was you yourself who let in light on my darkness, with 
that blessed trick you have of firing off somebody else’s 
wisdom, apropos of anything, or nothing. Out you came, 
as if inspired, with that favorite sentence of that favorite 

* Self-Reliance ’ chapter of yours, and admonished me 
with, * Nothing can bring you peace but the triumph of 
principles.’ I had a few of the latter, and I wanted peace 
the worst way, so I resolved on a triumph. See ? ” 

Roy kindly made light of his struggle, seeing, from 
Gwin’s April-day condition, that she had a painfully clear 
appreciation of the sacrifice, and what it had cost. 

“We’ll get the bread and butter by some decent occu- 
pation,” he went on cheerfully, “and glorify it by the 

* deeds done in secret.’ There’s more than one way of 
doing good in this world, and mine will come to much 
the same in the end as that I had hoped to work by. ‘All* 
roads lead to Rome,’ and if mine is a little rugged the 
discipline will do me no harm.” 

“ O, Roy, you are quite leaving me behind ! ” cried 
Gwin, in a glow of admiration. “ But you can’t do every- 
thing. You will let me help, won’t you ? I want to take 


4 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Cynthia’s place — of course, it is only a little thing, com- 
pared with your sacrifice, but still it will make a differ- 
ence in the month’s bills — and then I shall not have to see 
mother look so worried when pay-day comes. You know, 
Roy," Gwin urged, argumentatively, “ you said, only this 
morning, that you wished I could rule the roast." 

“ You should make allowance, Gwin, for an enthusiasm 
that spoke under the influence of hash. But what is the 
matter?” he exclaimed, with an odd smile. “Something 
seems to be burning." 

“ My stew ! my stew ! ” cried Gwin in a panic, catch- 
ing up the saucepan, and inspecting its contents with a 
wry face. “Oh, dear, it is burnt, and not fit for the 
table. And it was every morsel I had for dinner ! What 
am I to do ! ” 

“ Never mind, Gwin. Don’t wail over burnt soup, for 
I brought home a basketful of marketings from the city 
last night ; only my head was so full of other things I 
forgot to tell you of it.” 

Roy left the room, returning immediately with a basket 
packed with a generous assortment of provisions. 

“ Here’s richness !” cried Gwin. “ I never knew be- 
fore that that there was so much poetry in mutton chops. 
Why hasn’t somebody written on the Pleasures of Plenty, 
I wonder ! What a banquet you shall have ! " 

“Ah! but I don’t know about trusting a cook who 
spoils her porridge so with my fine joints and steaks.” 

“ How did you get all these things, Roy ? ” 

“It was out-and-out Black Art, and it transmuted 
Latin and Greek into all this gold." He pulled out his 



» c ' • 

■ 

* 

* 













ON BRIAR HILL. 


47 


pocketbook and dazzled Gwin’s vision with a roll of rus- 
tling bank notes, “gold" having been a slight flight of 
his imagination. 

“ Where did it come from ? Have you found a lucky 
penny? " 

“ No. I found a generous purchaser in the city, who 
bought me out, text-books, prizes, and all." 

“ O, Roy, you have never parted with them ? " 

“Yes, I have; and without a pang. It was the glory 
of earning them that I cared for, and that remains, you 
know, just the same. . . Now, you be brave, Gwin, and I 
know we shall pull through, somehow. See if we don’t ! 
I am growing older, and wiser, I hope, every day ; and 
you and I always did contrive to do whatever we really 
set our hearts on. So we shall come to theHop yet, I am 
sure, if we are brave and patient." 

“ What a boy you are, Roy ! " said Gwin, with a look 
of loving pride. 

“ And what a girl you are, Gwin — also, what a cook !" 

At this compliment, she brandished her ladle at him 
threateningly, and with a laugh, Roy ingloriously fled. 

In this last blow, for in her heart she felt it to be a very 
cruel one, Gwin found a fresh incentive to “do her part." 

However pleaSant the kitchen might be to her at odd 
times, and when she was in the mood for fryings and 
stewings, the parlor was much more to her taste; but 
there did not seem to be any call for making that fact 
prominent, just then. 

Being quite resolved upon usurping Cynthia’s crown 
and scepter, Gwin gave herself, heart and mind, to the 


4 8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


composition of a banquet that should be worthy of the 
sacrifices by which it had been procured, assuring Roy, 
in one of his invasions, that she felt like a priestess who 
was about to immolate those ancients ; and that it seemed 
horribly grotesque to be roasting Xenophon, and serving 
Cornelius Nepos up in a stew. 

She tied on a kitchen bib, and brought out the cook- 
book, which she treated in a confidentially familiar, yet 
entirely respectful, manner. 

“Now, Mother Putnam,” she said, “let us read your 
‘Advice to Young Housekeepers,' and see how you say 
it ought to be done. ‘Vol au Vent,’ ‘ Mock turtle,' ‘Calf’s 
head,’— your table of contents is a feast in itself. Oh, 
here you are, — leg of mutton, page fifty-three. Now, 
ma’m, how’s the, thing done — in first-rate style, if you 
please? ” 

“Mother Putnam” gave this young housekeeper the 
soundest of advice, and following it, Gwin floured, and 
skewered, and boiled, most successfully. This, with the 
potatoes to mash and brown, and the caper sauce to be 
served hot, was rather a heavy weight of responsibility on 
her mind, and it was not much wonder that presently a 
new odor of something burning issued from among her 
pots and pans. In fresh dismay, Gwin peeped under lids 
and into kettles. 

“ Oh, the apples ! I forgot all about them. Dear me, 
if I don’t mind things better, they’ll give me ‘ warning ’ 
before I am engaged. Let me see how much, damage 
has been done. They are tolerably well crisped on top. 
However, I can give them an extra sprinkle of sugar.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


49 




But it was the enjoyment of the others over the return 
of plenty to the table that gave Gwin the greatest pleas- 
ure. Even Betty looked brighter than she had done for 
many a long day, as she surveyed the table and said, 
cheerfully : 

“ It seems so respectable to have enough and to spare, 
once more. No need of any Spanish dodges, now, 
Gwin.” 

The kitchen was by no means lonely, for in the after- 
noon Mrs. North brought her mending-basket, and sat 
in the rocking-chair by the sunny west window, and her 
presence soon made it seem the heart of the house. Rose 
had a doll’s dress that must needs be washed and ironed ; 
and Betty, catching the cooking infection, volunteered to 
make some seed-cakes, for the compounding of which she 
had a particular talent. Roy ; too, was often in and out, 
taking observations, and consulting with Gwin as to what 
things were most needed. 

“ Pretty much everything,” was the discouraging an- 
swer. “ I don’t think mother has had any housekeeping 
allowance for two or three months, and I am almost sure 
she emptied her purse to pay Cynthia.” 

When Betty, prettily flushed with her cookery, had 
heaped a plate with the thin, crisp cakes, and gone away 
to Persis with her offering, Gwin rather hesitatingly seized 
the opportunity to open a treaty with her mother. 

“Can’t I be made to do instead of Cynthia ?” she urged. 
“ I will try my very best, mother, and as we have so little 
company in these days, and you will all be patient with 
me when I make failures, I am sure I could manage it.” 


50 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ That’s my Rosebud ! ” exclaimed Gwin. “ I was just 
wondering how I could manage it all alone, and here you 
come, like ‘Sir William of Delorraine, good at need.’ 
Betty has made some of her famous seed cakes, and 
while you are filling the basket with them, I will go and 
lay the cloth. . . My ! how beautifully you have arranged 
them ! Like a tower of Babel, built of sweet bricks ! . . 
Now, the glass bowl, I baked these apples for tea, but 
they got a little scorched on top, in the hurry, so we must 
turn the burnt sides down, out of sight. Always put the 
best side of things uppermost, Rosebud, and you have no 
idea what a difference it makes. . . . Now, then, what 
next? . . Oh, yes; while I put the tea drawing, do you 
suppose you could bring the great stone pitcher of milk 
from the closet without spilling it? ” 

Rose was quite sure she could ; but when she came 
back, carefully bearing the heavy, brimming jar, she wore 
a very decided expression of disapproval on her sweet 
little face. 

“ What has happened, Rose ? ” 

“ I just tasted the least, little, tiny drop, and it is not 
nice milk at all.” 

“ Oh, what a blunder ! ” said Gwin, examining it. 
“Why, it must be the jar that Cynthia keeps the sour 
milk in. I never thought of it, and poured all that the 
milkman left this morning in with it. What a pity ! ” 

“ What are we to eat on our apples ? I like them with 
sweet milk, and so does Betty.” 

“ Once there was a little girl, just like you, who liked 
sweet milk with baked apples for her supper ; but the 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


5 1 


kitchen maid, who was very careless, forgot to set the 
milk jug in a cool place, or did some other stupid thing, 
so the milk all turned sour, as this has. And then what 
do you think she did ? ” 

“ I don’t know. What did she ? ” 

“ Why, she took the sour milk and made it into pot- 
cheese.” 

“ Did she ? What is pot-cheese ? Is it nice ? ” 

“ Delicious.” 

“ Suppose we make a pot-cheese with our milk? ” 

“ Why, what a sensible idea ! ” said Gwin. “ So we 
will.” 

Roy coming in again, with an armful of wood for the 
morning fire, seated himself on the corner of the table 
and watched the whole operation with much interest; 
while Rose, perched on a footstool, with the salt-box in 
her hand, chattered away at a great rate, and as she gave 
the last sprinkle of salt to the curd, very sagely informed 
her brother : 

“ But it isn’t any matter at all, if your milk does turn 
sour, because then you can have pot-cheese, which is 
much nicer ; and Whenever anything gets burnt all you 
have to do is to turn the black down, away out of sight, 
and it makes all the difference in the world. Gwin says 
so.” 

Roy, listening with roguish eyes, took out his pocket- 
book and pencil, gravely remarking : 

“ I’ll make a note of it. But how can I ever do justice 
to the combined delights of seed-cake and pot-cheese, 
after such a dose of philosophy, I wonder.” 


5 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ It would be too much for you, my little girl.” 

“ For me alone, perhaps ; but there are your other b> 
tie girls. Betty would help with the fine arts, the seed 
cakes and the goodies ; and Rose will be only too happy 
if she may take care of the silver and the cups. And then, 
first and last, and always, there is Mother Putnam to fall 
back upon. May I, mother? ” 

Still the mother shook her head doubtingly. 

“You would find it hard and tiresome, Gwin, when it 
came to be day-after-day work, without excitement or 
change. It would soon get to be an old story, and you 
would repent when it would be too late to recall 
Cynthia.” 

“ I know it would get to be an old story, mother, but 
so would anything else that came to be every-day work ; 
and I am sure I should not repent. Pastry is my ‘ rock 
ahead,’ but Betty has a genius for puddings and pies, and 
we shouldn’t need them often. Then there is always you, 
mother, to help me if I should get into any very serious 
scrapes.” 

“ If I could help you, my dear, I should not have all 
these objections ; but you know that Persis needs me, 
and I have other cares, so that you could not depend 
upon me. However,” she added, smiling at Gwin’s 
pleading face, ‘ I will think it over. We certainly need 
to do the wisest and best, even if it may not be the most 
agreeable thing.” 

Before Gwin had time to add her most weighty argu- 
ment, Rose came running in, and having completed her 
laundry performances, wanted to help about getting tea. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


53 


“Haven’t you ‘ thought about it’ enough, mother?” 
Gwin asked, later in the evening ; and seeing her still 
hesitate, she added earnestly : 

“ If you could only know how much I want to do 
something that will really help — something that won’t be 
quite pleasant — that will cost a little, mother. . . If you 
don’t let me do this Roy will get miles and miles beyond 
me, and I couldn’t bear that we should be so far apart. I 
might die to keep up with him, but I could never be a 
‘straggler in the rear.’ ... I know it is a sacrifice ; that 
is why I want to do it. Won’t you take me on trial, 
mother ? ” 

“ My dear, since you have it so much at heart, I will 
1 ztyou take it on trial.” 

So it was very hopefully that Gwin spoke, when the 
two girls lingered for their usual half-hour talk by Percy's 
sofa before Roy came to lift her in his strong arms to her 
bed. 

“Well, Percy, I have established my workshop already. 
I am to flourish the toasting-fork, supreme in kitchen.” 

“ And I begin to-morrow. My programme is not com- 
plete, but first on the list comes school. I am going to 
be nursery-governess to Rose, and beside the usual 
branches, I shall teach her history, in the form of stories 
adapted to infant minds and ears ; also millinery and 
dressmaking, for the ostensible benefit of Sophronia 
Sphyms’ wardrobe. There are other things I have in my 
mind, but they are not ready to be talked about yet. They 
must wait.” 

Betty, lightly rocking back and forth, with her fingers 


54 


THE OLD HOUSE 


interlaced, and her forehead bowed upon them, listened, 
and when her turn came, looked up with a smile. 

“ I have not set up any workshop, but I’ll tell you what 
I will do. I will mend all the stockings, because Fate 
has singled me out for a martyr, and that will be appro- 
priate work ; and I will swing around the circle — if you 
two can be said to make a circle, I don’t know, for I 
never was brilliant in that line of studies, — and to make 
myself necessary as well as agreeable, I will sweep and 
dust your shops. There ! . . . But remember, my two 
fleet hares, it was the tortoise that won the race, after all. 
So look well to your laurels, girls ! I might make a 
‘spurt,’ you know, some day. I suppose it can be done 
by land, as well as by water.” 

It was a gay threat, which made Persis and Gwin glad 
at heart, and served them with many a happy jest. 

As the two were going to their own room, later, Gwin 
ran lightly up the stairs, while Betty, who carried the 
light, followed more slowly. 

She smiled on her sister when she reached the landing, 
and quietly suggested : 

“ The tortoise is slow by nature.” 

“ Ah ! ” cried Gwin, gayly hugging her, “ but he 
•won!" 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


55 


V. 

TRe King’s Daughters. 

r March was come, with its promise of brighter days. 
,The snow-drifts wore slowly melting away under the 
pale spring sunshine, and the warm south winds that 
stole up from far-away sunny banks of violets and groves 
of sweet bloom.. 

But to-day the wild winds were out on a frolic, rioting 
boisterously around the house, rattling the windows, 
whistling through the spacious halls, and rollicking about 
the tall chimneys in rude glee, that still had something 
of melancholy in its strain. 

Persis sat on her sofa, bolstered up with many pillows, 
her bright, rippling hair beautifully dressed by Betty, who 
had lovingly spread it out over the snowy ruffles, saying, 
as she arranged it : 

“We must make the most of you, Percy, for you are 
our perpetual sunbeam, and all this golden splendor 
about your head is your ‘glory,' and my delight." 

Persis’ wan cheeks were grown more thin and white in 
the last two months, and Gwin could only think, with a 
great heart-ache, when she marked the change in that 
beloved sister, of the delicate snow-wreaths in the hol- 
lows that slowly vanished, no one knew when or how. 
Her slender hands were more fairy-like than ever, yet 
they wrought with steady persistence at the canvas on 
which, stitch by stitch, grew the glowing crimson bios- 




56 


THE OLD HOUSE 


soms, massed among vivid emerald and soft dead leaves. 

This pretty toil had been that part of the programme 
of which she would not speak, and when Gwin found her 
out she gave a loving reason for her silence. 

“ I did not like to tell you about it, after I found that 
it could be done, for I knew that Betty was so sore and 
sensitive she would find some reproach in it to apply to 
herself; and she has enough to bear, dear girl ! As for 
the work, I need not tell you, Gwin, what a comfort it is 
to me to feel that I am not wholly useless ; that I may 
help, though it be in the smallest possible of ways, while 
you and Roy are doing so much.” 

Notwithstanding her thoughtful precaution, Betty too, 
learned Percy’s secret, in time, and the story was not 
without its influence on her. 

.... In the better days, that were not so long gone 
as they seemed, when Persis had triumphantly entered 
her teens, and putting away childish things, grew very 
ambitious to perform miracles in the way of learning, she, 
together with five of her “bosomest” friends, who were 
animated with the same desire to shine, had organized a 
literary club, which was to them in lieu of dolls for a verv 
happy period. There had been much thought given to 
the name of this club ; much discussion of such titles as 
the “ Illuminate,” the “ Invisibles,” the “ Nameless,” all 
of which were suggested by the reading of various mys- 
tic books, like the “ Bloodstone,” and the “ Countess von 
Rudolstadt ” ; and that they had finally adopted the name 
of the “ Rosicrucian ” was principally due to the fact that 
in that case the club badges would be so very charming. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


57 


Six small golden crosses, set with rubies, were duly or- 
dered from the city, and the society went hard to work 
reading Milton, Shakespeare, and a long list of books 
much too old for the members, in the ambitious hope of 
turning out half a dozen Margaret Fullers, for all their 
friends and their native country to be proud of. The club 
did its work, enriched a year or two of their lives with 
much that was good and happy, and then its place knew 
it no more. Its members drifted North and South, to the 
Occident and to the Orient, until only Persis was left, 
stranded on her sofa, with nothing remaining of the Rosi- 
crucian but her badge, and the many memories belonging 
to that most happy time. 

The cheery way in which Roy had. parted with his 
prizes had touched her, and in it she found for herself an 
example of self-denial. The Rosy Cross- was the most 
dearly prized of all her store of trinkets, but it was also 
the most valuable, so, as Percy told herself, it was really 
worth the giving up ; and when Roy next went to the 
city he carried the jewel in its little velvet case, with in- 
structions to dispose of it as he could. On his return, he 
brought her a sum of money that seemed a great deal to 
Persis, although it was less than half the value of her 
ruby cross. 

Her next step was the writing of a note, which cost her 
infinite trouble before it would word itself properly, and 
seem to mean neither too much nor too little, for the deli- 
cate favor she meant to.ask must not reveal the sad condi- 
tion of affairs at home ; and this, when completed, she pri- 
vately dispatched by Rose, who thought the really impor- 


S3 


THE OLD HOUSE 


tant part of her errand was the stopping- at the confection- 
er’s to buy two ounces of rose almonds. It was her reward, 
at all events, and with the bonbons in her mouth, she 
was too pleasantly employed to babble about the rest of 
her errand. 

Mrs. Caryl, to whom the note was addressed, glanced 
over it, and remarked to the Professor, as she folded it 
again : 

“ I am afraid Professor North’s speculations have been 
more disastrous than we thought. Here is poor Percy 
writing to ask me if I will let her make for me a sofa pil- 
low like one I once admired exceedingly, which she gave 
to Mrs. Yorke. She says she can think of no other way 
in which she can do anything, lying there on her sofa, 
and she wants to feel that she is still of some little use, 
dear child.” 

“ Is it so bad as that? I knew that matters were going 
sadly down hill with North ; his usefulness is pretty 
nearly at an end, that’s certain ! But I hoped that the 
family comfort was secure. This explains Roy’s giving 
up his studies — a fine scholar — with great prospects be- 
fore him. I wondered at it greatly. . . . Well — you can 
help her ? ” 

“Yes, a trifle ; so far as an embroidered cushion goes. 
But cannot you do better for them — by helping Roy, or 
by letting him help you? You were saying the other 
day that you needed a secretary ; why would not Roy 
do ? ” 

“ He would,” exclaimed the Professor, evidently much 
pleased at the suggestion. “ Roy is the very person, if I 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


59 


can get him ; and he is so far advanced in his studies he 
can be very useful to me in many ways.” 

So Percy’s note, and the sacrifice of her little jewel, 
brought about much good of which she never knew. 
Through her, Roy at once found an excellent position, 
without having to leave home, and if close work was ex- 
acted it was well repaid, in the generous salary he 
received. 

Betty was much consoled, in her grief over the blight 
that had fallen upon Roy’s prospects, that his work still 
lay among books, and that he devoted a large part of his 
leisure time to the studies that he could not altogether 
give up. 

One of the first results of Roy’s new position was dis- 
played in a replenished wood-pile, around which Gwin 
and Rose executed a “ pow- wow,” until, breathless and 
flushed, they sank down on a prostrate log. 

“ I never knew before that there could be so much 
beauty in a wood-pile,” said Gwin, as she gathered some 
of the gray lichens and mosses that dappled the shaggy 
bark. “ I can almost see how these trees budded and 
blossomed under the warm April showers, and robins 
sang and went to housekeeping in their leafy branches ; 
how the nuts on these hickories began to ripen and fall, 
and the children and squirrels went to gather them in 
autumn ; and how the woodman came later, with his 
ringing axe, to chop the great trunks down, with all the 
echoes crying out against him for the deed, and hauled 
them over the creaking snow with his sledge and oxen, 
just to make bright fires burn on our hearth. Do you 


6o 


THE OLD HOUSE 


think that is a good ending for them ? It’s a brilliant 
one, anv way. Look at all these lovely lichens, Rose. I 
am going to make you a cross of moss with them ; and 
all these fairy cups shall blossom in a cluster, like gray 
lilies, at its foot. Help me find some more of these scar- 
let caps ; I must have enough to fasten across it, like a 
little wreath.” 

But sad days had come to them in February, that no 
bright fires on the hearth could cheer. Gwin sang duets 
no more with Rose, as she worked ; Betty drooped silent- 
ly, as one too hopelessly crushed for words ; and Persis’ 
white cheeks blanched day by day. 

That which the sisters had dreaded as the last blow 
came. The father came home one night, looking much 
broken, and went to his old place in the lecture-room no 
more. 

He was bowed and feeble now, like an old man, for the 
anguish they had suffered had not spared him who 
had brought it upon them ; his hand trembled pitifully, 
and he always walked with his head bent, never lifting his 
eyes to his children’s faces when he met them, which they 
took good care should rarely happen. 

Only Roy and the mother kept up brave hearts in those 
cheerless days; — he, because he was out in the world 
hard at work, learning his strength, and too busy to have 
time for brooding over misfortune ; she, because she had 
long ago learned her strength in patience and in faith 
that no calamity could shake. 

“ The wind will be tempered,” she told them in the 
darkest hour of their night, and now that the dawn 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


6 1 


seemed breaking, it was as if her words had “ come 
true.” 

Either the fitful spring sunshine brought something of 
hope and brightness to them, and the soft air and the 
piping of the earliest bluebirds put them in heart again ; 
or else it was as Betty said, and they were “ growing used 
to the change.” 

From whatever cause it might have come, that very 
March day in which the winds were so uproarious Gwin 
had again lifted up her voice, and been heard chanting 
with Rose the favorite Mother Goose lyric of “ There was 
a man in our town,” to the old fugue tune of Antioch, 
with a vigorous accompaniment of tinkling cymbals, sup- 
plied by Rose, as she polished and jingled the silver. 

Even Persis got on faster than usual with her mossy 
buds, and seemed to feel more strength for the lessons 
when Rose’s school time came. 

Betty sat at the window with her sewing, and listened, 
much interested and amused, to the history-lesson which, 
in the form of a story, engrossed Rose’s attention, while 
she hemstitched a handkerchief for Sophie Pink, as Miss 
Sophronia Sphynx was called “for short.” 

That young lady’s wardrobe was being made ready for 
the event of her being sent away to boarding-school, but 
in the meanwhile she improved her mind by daily assist- 
ing at her mamma’s lessons, and as usual, she sat stiffly 
on her little chair near by, listening with a stolid expres- 
sion to the story, which was all about Queen Isabella 
giving her jewels to enable Columbus to make his voyage 
over unknown seas to find the New World. 


62 


THE OLD HOUSE 



“Wasn’t that nice of her?” asked Rose, laboriously- 
threading- her needle, while she offered her comments. 
“ I am so glad it was our country that she gave her jew- 
els for, aren’t you ? ” 

“ Yes ; it was a queenly thing to do,” said Mrs. North. 

“ Queens can always be queenly if they will,” said 
Betty. “ They have jewels to give.” 

“ You are right, Betty,” her mother continued. “ And 
giving one’s jewels is so royal an action, I sometimes 
wonder that the King’s daughters should ever forget that 
it is their right.” 

“ The King’s daughters, mother ? ” Betty looked up 
questioningly. 

“Yes, my dear ; and, to take you for an example, I am 
constantly expecting to see you, who so well appreciates 
a royal deed, act the princess, and give your jewels.” 

“Alas ! ” sighed Betty, “ I have none to give.” 

“ On the contrary, you have a very precious casket, 
well supplied with them.” 

Betty studied her mother’s smiling face with curious, 
puzzled eyes, and asked at length : 

“What is the casket, mother? You are speaking in 
parables now.” 

“ The casket is your heart, my dear. Can you not 
guess the jewels you might give ? ” 

Betty pondered a little, and shook her head. 

“ No, mother dear. There’s nothing but love in it, 
and even that seems to be a worthless sort of thing to 
bestow.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


6 3 


“There is the very royal jewel, pride, that you quite 
overlook, Betty.’' 

“ Pride ? Oh ! — why — I thought that was an evil pos- 
session.” 

“ Not always. Things are good or evil, as you happen 
to use or misuse them,” said the mother, with an empha- 
sis that set Betty to thinking. 

The mother’s parables were a part of what her little 
girls, as she fondly called them, regarded as her “ wise 
fashions.” It was a gentle way of correcting faults, that 
always carried the promise of help and comfort with it. 
She had watched Betty silently struggling to conquer her 
pride, and growing discouraged when pride got the bet- 
ter of her, until she felt sure that the time to aid had 
come ; then she quietly spoke the helpful word. 

And it did make a difference ; when she came to look 
at it in the new light, — to feel that as one of the King’s 
daughters she must account for her jewels, put her pride 
only to high and noble uses, act with a royal self-abnega- 
tion, and give, rather than receive — it made a great dif- 
ference with Betty. 

An hour or two later, she came into the kitchen where 
Gwin and Rose were making believe play baby-house, 
and really getting tea. 

“ Why can’t I help too, Gwin ? ” she asked. “ I am 
sure I should like it, you have such a merry-making over 
it.” And so she quietly fell into the ranks, assisting to 
lay the tea-cloth, turning the muffins, and taking her 
share of some of the less agreeable duties of that depart- 
ment. She thought herself well paid for it, however, in 


64 


THE OLD HOUSE 


being in the midst of the fun which sparkled around her 
in a meteoric shower of nonsense, and after tea she found 
herself volunteering very willingly to take all the care of 
the china and silver on 1 her hands. 

“ But that is my work,” Rose objected. 

“ Very well. Then you can let me help you with it, and 
you may go to market every morning with me. How will 
that do ? ” 

Gwin’s blue eyes came wide open at this proposal, and, 
although she made no allusion to it, a wilder spirit of 
mischief seemed to take possession of her. It was 
funny enough to see her when, having inadvertently spilled 
some kerosene oil while filling the lamps, she went about 
the kitchen with stage strides, as tragic a Lady Macbeth 
as ever was seen, complaining in melodramatic tones that 
all the perfumes of Araby could never sweeten that little 
hand. After which she went off into a wonderfully com- 
ical impersonation of Sairey Gamp, and related the history 
of that unhappy infant of Mrs. Harris, who stuffed his 
shoe into his mouth, and was at last found “ so sweetly 
choking in the parlor,” with so much art that Sophronia 
Sphynx’ young mamma came near to meeting a like tragic 
fate with laughter and delight. 

“You have much too good times out here to be per- 
mitted to enjoy them all alone,” said Betty, when the frolic 
had subsided. “ I mean to claim my share of the work 
and the sport after this. Do you suppose I could be trust- 
ed to do the marketing, Gwin ? ” 

“ I should think so. You might ask mother. She makes 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


65 


out the list every night for Roy ; and all you would have 
to do would be to select and pay for the things.” 

“ Then I can take that off Roy’s hands, and you and I 
will go together every morning, Rose. We will follow 
Madame Roland’s example — you’ve had Madame Roland, 
haven’t you ? — who used to leave her engraving, and her 
classics, to go to market for a salad, and who put aside 
her philosophies to go into the kitchen and prepare the 
vegetables for dinner. Shall we. Rose ? ” 

“ Well —only — I wouldn’t like to lose our heads ! ” said 
Rose, doubtful how far Betty was purposing to follow that 
illustrious example. 

“Oh, no, indeed! We’ll take good care to keep our 
heads, now that we have got them, Rose-in-Bloom,” 
Betty declared, with a little private meaning and empha- 
sis for herself alone. 

Betty found it pleasant to remember that so distin- 
guished a person as Madame Roland had set the example 
of taking thought for the little things of life, and that in 
a story so tragic her faithful performance of such homely, 
domestic duties had not been thought unworthy of a 
place. 

The fact had been freshly brought to her mind by hav- 
ing heard it told in one of Rose’s story-lessons, and she 
had agreed with Persis that the picture was somehow far 
more touching of the young girl leaving her ambitious 
studies and her dreams to go into the kitchen and dress 
the salads, than its companion piece, the heroic scene 
where she ascended the guillotine and laid her head on 
the block. 


66 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Gwin, who always had some quaint word of explanation 
to offer, and who never cared how much they might laugh 
at her odd fancies, suggested : 

“ Well, that is not so strange, either, when one remem- 
bers that she came down from the heights to the kitchen 
of her own accord — a bit of self-sacrifice which she was 
free to make or not, just as she chose. That was a touch 
of real heroism. But in the other matter, she had to lose 
her head, will-y nilly, and no credit to her, except that her 
noble pride and her brave heart helped her to meet her 
fate calmly, and without fear. . . Beside,” Gwin added, 
laughingly, “ did you never notice it ? — there is a decid- 
edly picturesque element about salads. The vegetable 
looks well in the garden, and the word is quite tempting 
in print. If the story had said that she sliced onions or 
garlic, now ” 







ON BRIAR HILL. 


6 7 


VI. 

Betty’s Jewel. 

Betty and her little companion set forth on their first 
marketing — baskets in hand, for Betty was resolved to 
overcome the little foolishnesses and fancies that so 
ignobly hampered her, — with that joyousness of spirit 
which gives something of a festival air to the most com- 
monplace event. 

Rose, with her sweet child prattle and her fairy-fed 
fancies, quaintly mingled with her ideas concerning the 
real world, was a dainty companion for the fresh, bright 
morning hour, and Betty was very tender and winsome 
in all her ways towards the darling of the house. 

On her own responsibility, after she and Rose had faith- 
fully gone through the list, made their small purchases, 
and filled the penitential baskets, Betty went through the 
market from stall to stall, bent on finding a particular in- 
vestment for the sixpence she had left over ; and discov- 
ered what she wanted at last by Rose drawing her atten- 
tion to what she said “ looked like beautiful, big, green 
roses.” 

An enchantingly pretty pair the two made, if only an 
artist, or a poet, truest of child-lovers, could have seen 
them coming home from their marketing: Betty,, with 
her cheeks flushed the delicate pink of a damask rose, 
her eyes bright and glad, her lips , just melting with the 
pleased expression that was almost, yet not quite a smile ; 


68 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Rose, in her scarlet cloak, her fair, flower-face blooming 
out of her red riding-hood ; and in their baskets glimpses 
of crisp, tender green, a sprinkle of red, gleams of sil- 
very white and golden yellow. 

Where a back street was not too roundabout, Betty’s 
feet did linger at its corner, since the truth must be told, 
and never had her inclination so strongly pointed to by- 
ways ; but she conquered the temptation to reform by 
halves, and walked bravely on in what was to her, just at 
that moment* the “strait gate.” 

She must be forgiven if she felt just a little sense of 
relief that she had met none of her acquaintances on the 
journey, since, as she said, one is not cured all in a mo- 
ment of one’s naughtiness. 

“Here’s your picturesque vegetable, Gwin,” she pro- 
claimed, flourishing the lettuce at her sister, “ and dirt- 
cheap at sixpence a head, so the market-woman told me. 
I thought it would make a pretty addition to the dinner- 
table, and I am going to dress it myself. It is almost as 
pretty as a bouquet, and has the additional merit that one 
can eat it, when one has done admiring it.” 

“ Cynthia was fond of telling me that many cooks spoil 
the broth, when I wanted to help — or hinder — with the 
meringues ,” said Gwin, significantly. 

“ Also, many hands make light work,” retorted Betty, 
good-naturedly. “ You will have to make room for me in 
the kitchen-cabinet after this, Gwin. I must have a work- 
shop somewhere.” 

“ ‘ Uneasy lies the head that wears a crown.’ Well, I 
submit — on one condition.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


69 


“ Name your terms.” 

“You will spoil our duets, unless you learn to sing- 
tenor.” 

“ Hard, but not impossible. I will do my best.” 

“You see,” Gwin exclaimed, “we get so interested in 
aiming for the right notes to make the * harmonies that 
the work seems to do itself. It makes ever so much dif- 
ference.” 

And it made ever so much jollity as well, for in her ef- 
forts to “ sing tenor ” Betty went wandering and quaver- 
ing among the high notes, hit or miss, but principally 
miss ; and Rose, who was very secure with the easy airs 
of her part, added a gurgling laughter, which disguised 
their ballads with a number of unprecedented trills and 
tremolos. 

Thus musically accompanied in her heroic role , Betty 
composed her salad bouquet with great success ; and 
Gwin, inspired to new achievements, dressed the cold 
boiled cod left over from the preceding dinner with a ma- 
yomiaise cream, over which she recited in hollow tones, 
like a witch pronouncing an incantation over her caul- 
dron : 

‘“To make this condiment your cookmaid begs 

The pounded yellow of two hard-boiled eggs ; 

Two boiled potatoes, passed through kitchen sieve,’ 

makes it delicious, you may well believe, my dear. 

‘ Let onion atoms lurk within the bowl, 

And, half-suspected, animate the whole ; — ’ 

but beware of crying into it, for that is not put down in 
the recipe, mind you ! 


7 ° 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Of mordent mustard ’ 

What’s mordent, Betty ? Latin for something that bites ? 

1 Of mordent mustard add a single spoon, 

Distrust the condiment that bites too soon 

Wherefore put not your faith in pepper ; 

‘ And deem it not, my Rose-in-bloom, a fault, 

To add a double quantity of salt.’ 

That means that you are at this precise moment to put 
in two single spoons of salt ; and not, as you may sup- 
pose, two single salt spoons. 

4 Four times the spoon with oil from Lucca crown,’ 

which not having I can’t, but half a teacup ful of melted 
butter is almost as good. 

4 And twice with vinegar procured from town 

but that is according to one’s taste ; we prefer the coun- 
try-made article. As for ‘ the magic soupgon of anchovy 
sauce,’ we must leave that luxury to the epicures. For 
my part, I consider my mayonnaise a work of perfection 
as it is, — and then, to think of the glory of being served 
by such a heroine as Madame Roland, and such a wit as 
Sydney Smith ! That is magnificence enough for me, 
without anchovies.’’ 

Percy’s work went on bravely, but slowly. Although 
she seemed so bright, so confident, so full of hope, every 
morning, when Betty had dressed her in her soft cash- 
mere wrapper, and Roy had carried her to her sofa ; al- 
though she looked so cheerful at first, resting there among 
the pillows, her splendid hair spread all abroad, to “make 
sunshine in the shady places,” yet the faint, pink color on 
her cheeks soon faded ; as the day wore on her hands 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


7 1 


often fell listlessly, her eyes closed wearily, and each night 
she seemed weaker and more tired. Yet when Roy said, 
with a kind of pang in his voice, 

“I am afraid you grow lighter every day,” 

Persis answered, cheerfully : 

“ That is because every day you are growing stronger, 
Roy.” 

“ I should need to be stronger in my heart than in my 
arms, if you are to go on growing more fairy-like, and 
some day, perhaps, blow away like — thistle-down.” 

He tried to turn it off in a jest, but his voice faltered. 

“ Never fear,” answered Persis brightly. “ I shall con- 
tinue to be your thistle-in-full-bloom for many a long day 
to come. I don’t think I am ripe enough for going to 
seed yet, Roy.” 

Her smile was unfading, her voice unfailing in its quiet 
serenity ; but there were violet shadows daily deepening 
about her clear eyes, although everybody feigned not to 
see them, and said, out of her hearing, how gay Persis 
was, and how bright and brave, just to deceive and com- 
fort their own aching hearts. 

So the spray of crimson blossoms twined their half- 
blown buds and their dead leaves slowly indeed over the 
ground of white filoselle on which Betty worked by 
stealth, “ filling in ” odd stitches when Persis slept from 
weariness, and sitting up half-hours after bedtime to finish 
little stems and leaflets here and there, about which Per- 
sis need never know. 

Of course Gwin was in the conspiracy, and herself an 
active conspirator, sitting up to keep Betty company 


7 2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


while she helped along the work in secret, and for their 
mutual entertainment and profit reading aloud, and mak- 
ing of those half-hours what Rose would have called “ a 
magnificent, nice time.” 

“ I wish I dare do more,” Betty said on one occasion, 
when the half-hour had stretched to three-quarters. “But 
I have skipped about and filled in all that it is safe to ; 
and it is just a chance if Percy’s quick eyes don’t find me 
out, as it is.” 

“ Couldn’t you do just a fern or two more, while I finish 
this chapter? ” urged Gwin ; and when the chapter was 
concluded she comfortably declared that virtue was its 
own reward, and if Percy could only know what good 
times they had over their love-labor, she need feel under 
no obligations to either of them. 

Under the influence of these Robin Goodfellow tricks 
the roses bloomed and the leaves faded, and a knot of 
bonny blue ribbon tied the red brown stems. The last 
stitch was taken by Percy’s tired fingers, and the work 
was done. 

“ My little wand of steel has almost as much magic in 
it as a fairy’s wand of moonbeams,” Persis thought, as 
she put away her shining needle. “ There is my little 
ruby cross changed to fadeless roses. But how shall I 
dare to trust Rose to carry the embroidery home, and to 
bring me back the treasure ? ” 

While she pondered over this difficulty, doubtful and 
perplexed, Betty came in dressed for a walk, and wrapped 
in her “ prejudice-vanquished ” plaid, which she had put 
on as being in harmony with her state of mind. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


73 


“ If you can bring yourself to part with the beauty, 
Percy,” she said, in the most matter-of-course manner, 
“ I will take it home for you. I am going that way.” 

She made the offer so carelessly, Persis did not even 
suspect that she was “ going that way ” on purpose. 

“But I don’t like to trouble you, Betty,” said Persis, 
meaning that she did not like to pain her sister’s sensi- 
tiveness with an errand of that sort. 

“ Nothing is trouble that one does for you, Percy dear ; 
beside, I should like to see Mrs. Caryl’s first glance of 
delighted admiration, when she opens the package. 
Come, shall I do it up for you ? Then take your last 
look.” 

With the parcel under her arm, Betty set forth, taking 
the longest way, in the hope of getting time to screw her 
courage up to the occasion. When she had actually rung 
the door bell, and stood waiting for some one to answer 
it, she felt that her only chance of reprieve was cut off by 
her own hand, and remembered Madame Roland, Marie 
Antoinette, and a confused procession of noble martyrs, 
just in time to be heroic at the last gasp, as she confessed 
to Gwin afterwards. 

Mrs. Caryl was dressing to dine out, Betty was told, 
and she was left to wait in a chilly room, where the fire 
was low, and a clock ticked off the minutes distractingly, 
until she fairly shivered with cold and nervousness. 

At last, when it began to seem as if she could endure 
it no longer, came Mrs. Caryl, always stately, and grand- 
er than ever in her rustling, sweeping silks ; but she gave 
Betty a kind and gentle greeting, asked after Persis so 


74 


THE OLD HOUSE 


interestedly, and uttered such praises of the work as 
made the messenger’s heart glow. Presently she said, as 
she rose and looked for her shawl : 

“ I will send the money to-morrow, my dear. I sup- 
pose that will do as well as to-night, and I am going out 
— a little late, too, I fear.” 

This would never do ! Mrs. Caryl was so apt to for- 
get such trifles, with all the calls she had on her time 
and memory ! And how could they ever remind her of 
it, if it was left so ! 

“ What am I to do ! ” thought Betty in mental despair, 
as Mrs. Caryl slowly draped her rich shawl over her 
shoulders in elegant folds. “It is now — or never. And 
I cannot go back to Persis with an empty hand. It would 
be too disappointing. What shall I say ? ” 

Betty was sorely, sorely tempted to make up a little 
-civil fib of some sort ; to say that she was on her way to 
the village to spend the money in commissions for Persis, 
or that it was somebody’s birthday, and her sister had 
set her heart on buying a present with her own earnings ; 
but she colored high with shame at finding herself so 
tempted, and put the unworthy thought from her with a 
little shudder, telling herself that such a subterfuge would 
be the shabbiest of anything that had come to her life ; 
that it was a bad pride that led' to lies ; that “ the King’s 
daughters” had honest eyes, and lips that were without 
guile, and that truth kept them “ all glorious within.” 

When Mrs. Caryl turned from the long mirror, Betty 
stood beside her with crimson cheeks, that betrayed what 
the effort to answer cost her. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


75 


“If it is not troubling you too much, Mrs. Caryl, I 
should prefer to take the money to Persis myself ; she has 
worked so patiently, and will be so pleased.” 

“Very well, my dear,” Mrs. Caryl answered, with the 
gentlest of smiles. “You shall do as you like. I would 
gladly take some trouble too, to please you, but this is 
none at all.” 

She rang, sent the maid for a key, with it unlocked a 
cabinet, and a drawer within the cabinet, from which she 
took her portemonnaie , and counted out several crisp, 
new notes into Betty’s hand. 

“Tell Persis it is really worth more, and if I had a 
purse as large as my inclination is, I would give her more 
for it. As it is, I am half ashamed to have made such a 
splendid bargain,” she said, with her hand resting kindly 
on Betty’s shoulder, as they passed out to the door. At 
the gate she stooped and kissed her, adding : 

“ Good-by, my dear. If I were not so late — and it will 
never do to keep a dinner-party waiting — I would drive 
you home. But you shall go with me some other time. 
Give my kindest love to Persis, and tell her how entirely 
pleased I am.” 

Mrs. Caryl’s “ some other time ” never came. With all 
her sweetness of manner, and her friendliness, she was 
very forgetful. But she was really good at heart, and her 
treatment of Betty had been so kind as to make her won- 
der at herself for all her trepidations. 

Moreover, Mrs. Caryl, with all her slips of memory, 
had constant inspirations of kindness, and she never hap- 
pened to meet Roy in the Professor’s study without lad- 


76 


THE OLD HOUSE 


ing him with some new book for Betty, or some dainty 
basket of hot-house fruit or box of guavas for Persis. 

“ I like people who do good by fits and starts,” Gwin 
announced, by no means feeling herself neglected because 
she remained to the end of the chapter on Mrs. Caryl’s 
list of forgotten ones, among the “ always to be blest.” 
“ They are perpetually doing unexpected things, — taking 
you by surprise. And they keep you in a state of pleas- 
ant excitement, for you never can guess what may be 
coming next.” 

Of all who witnessed this effort at self-discipline which 
Betty had so quietly made, no one felt so little surprised 
as the mother. 

“ Bettine is really learning to overlive our misfortunes,” 
said Persis, and looked as happy over her sister’s triumph 
as if it had conquered all the troubles that hung over the 
house. 

“ I hope she isn’t going to be ill,” Gwin anxiously ex- 
claimed. “ I remember that for weeks before she had the 
scarlet fever she was as good as a little angel, and Cynthia 
said that was always a bad sign. Ever since then, I have 
been so frightened whenever she is * took ’ with her an- 
gelic moods ! ” 

“ Mother,” Betty softly said, stealing behind her chair 
that same evening, and kissing her cheek, “ you do me so 
much good — you and your parables.” 

“That is part of my work in the world, isn’t it?” 
asked the mother, adding quietly : “I am glad over you 
to-day, Betty.” 

“ And rather surprised, too ? Aren’t you, mother ? ” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


77 


“ No, Betty, not at all surprised. Indeed, I quite ex- 
pected all this — in time.” 

“ Why, mother dear ? ” 

“Noblesse oblige ! ” was the answer. 


VII. 

Shadows. 

“ I don’t know how Archie Yorke will bear it, when he 
hears that Roy has turned “a deserter.” Those two used 
to lay out such grand campaigns for the benefit of all the 
world ! They had a notion of crowding out evil . with 
good, very much on Rose’s plan of planting her garden, 
setting the flowers so thick that there was no room left 
for a weed to edge itself in,” said Betty. 

“And why wouldn’t that be a brilliant way to do it, — 
if you could only get a big enough army ? ” Gwin asked. 
** Yes, they were going to fight all the modern giants — 
those two ; and I remember I once threw cold water to 
the best of my small ability on their enthusiasm, by tell- 
ing them that they reminded me of poor, old Don Quix- 
ote, sallying forth to charge at the windmills.” 

“ How could you, Gwin ! For my part, I always used 
to think that they were like Arthur’s noblest knights, Sir 
Gawain the Courteous, and Sir Galahad the Pure ; or like 
the knight crusaders of the Cross, one bearing the stand- 


THE OLD HOUSE 


7S 


ard, the other with lance in rest, and always ready to 
meet exile and captivity for the good of their cause,” 
Persis said. “ I thought their plans the noblest of ambi- 
tions. How could you bear to suggest the poor old Don, 
with his barber ’s-basin casque ? ” 

“ Oh, I suppose I was young and foolish ! And, some- 
how, I always do see the funny side of things, and I can’t 
help it. Then, too, they were such merry fellows to be 
laying out such grave plans ! But they did not mind my 
compliments a bit ; they only laughed good-naturedly, 
and Archie said : ‘ If we prick bubbles and fight shams 
with all our consciences, little girl, we need not be 
ashamed, even if we should happen to tilt at a windmill 
or two in our career.’ ” 

44 Was not that just like Archie ? ” exclaimed Betty, her 
eyes beaming with pride and affection. 

“ Just like Archie,” Persis repeated, smiling. 

“ And only to think what a terrible blow it will be to 
him when he learns that Roy has given- it all up, and be- 
come a — a — clodhopper.” 

“Now, Betty, that is quite too bad of you ! Is what he 
does with his hands going to settle what he must be in 
himself? ” protested Gwin. 

“ Why, no, I suppose not, altogether. I should think 
it might, to some extent.” 

“ That depends upon the person,” said Gwin, loftily. 
“We were talking of Roy.” 

“ Do you know,” said Betty, smiling at Gwin’s unwont- 
ed flurry, “ that Roy was keeping along with Archie, and 
that every study Archie took up in Berlin Roy did here, 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


79 


as an ‘extra/ until he had to give them all up together? 
. . Poor Archie ! I am sorry enough to think how dis- 
appointed he will be over the news.” 

“ No doubt it will be a disappointment to Archie at 
first ; but he is no less brave than Roy, who has had the 
heavier part of the trial to bear,” said the mother. “ But 
I am sorry to see you dwell with so much regret upon his 
altered prospects. I have learned that every loss has its 
own compensation ; and it is always possible to find a 
bright side to the darkest event.” 

“ I wish I could borrow your eyes, mother, when I have 
to look on the dark things,” said Betty. “ I wonder how 
I should see this, which grieves me, I admit.” 

“ I think you would see that Roy has simply begun the 
battle first. Archie is waiting to practice himself in the 
use of his arms ; he is doing the gay tourney-work, car- 
rying off the rings, and winning the garlands, while Roy 
has already buckled on his armor and ridden out to the 
real fray.” 

“ But not as he meant to go, mother,” Betty urged. 

“ My dear, we rarely go as we mean to, or fight the 
battle as we dream we shall. But that is not a thing to 
be melancholy over, for if, when we come to the final en- 
counter, we are victorious, as we look back on all the 
skirmishes in which we have fought, I think the how and 
when will not matter much, so that we bring away only 
honorable wounds, and on the last field we are con- 
querors.” 

“ But we get the courage knocked out of us when we 
are worsted in so many of the skirmishes,” Betty persisted. 


8o 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ It is a part of the knight’s duty to keep his honor as 
bright as his shield ; his courage as keen as his sword ; 
but in extremity he can always resort to the battle-cry, 
and press closer to the standard he fights for.” 

“ Yes ; just as the soldiers followed the white plume of 
King Henry of Navarre,” said Persis. “ And wherever 
there was glory to be won, there the snowy crest was al- 
ways seen, and there victory followed.” 

“ So, that was the kingly way of showing the white 
feather, was it ? ” Gwin asked. “ Then I must say that 
I prefer the royal style of doing it ! . . What a leader to 
follow!” 

“Mother dear,” said Betty, with an arch glance, “I 
think you ought to mount the white plume ! ” 

“And while I am masquerading, don’t you think I 
ought to put on a great ruff, like the queen whose cour- 
tiers always approached her with honeyed flatteries? ” 

“No, indeed, for they didn’t always speak from their 
hearts, as your courtiers do ; and she did not give them 
the honey of comfort and the oil of gladness in return 
for their pretty speeches, as our queen does,” said 
Persis. 

“I feel quite easy about Archie now,” said Betty. “ I 
wish I could be older, so that I could see things sensibly 
for myself ; or else that I could be younger, when one 
need not see things at all.” 

“So do I,” said Gwin. “But if I could choose, I would 
rather be younger. O, Betty, what splendid times we 
used to have in the good old days, when we never thought 
at all, and when Archie was even more at home here than 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


8l 


in his own father’s house. What would I not give to see 
his gay, handsome face beaming in upon us at the door, 
and making this winter of our discontent glorious with 
the summer son of Yorke ! ... If he would only come 
home ! ” 

“ Who is that happy ‘ he ’ for whom you sigh, Gwin ? ” 
asked Roy, who came into the room in time to catch her 
closing extravaganza. 

If it was merely the sight of a gay and handsome face 
that she wished for, Roy’s might have answered every 
purpose, for he had thrown off the grave expression that 
had of late come to him with his anxieties, and made him 
look older than his years ; there was the old, glad sparkle 
t in his eyes, and the old, cheerful smile played about his 
lips. 

“ Oh, we have been talking of knights, and battles, and 
Archie. And when we found that we were probably- giv- 
ing him a good deal of pity that he doesn’t need, — as we 
didn’t know what else to do with it, we turned it over to 
ourselves — that’s all. But isn’t it strange that he doesn’t 
write, Roy?” 

“ He does. ‘ Talk of the sun and its rays will appear.’ 
Look here ! this came to-night, in a packet to his father,” 
and Roy joyfully flourished high over her head the flut- 
tering sheets of a long letter. 

“ Ah ! let me see ! let me see!” pleaded Gwin, striv- 
ing to catch at them. But Roy held the letter just be- 
yond her reach. 

“No, no ; read it aloud, Roy, so we can all have the 
pleasure of it at once.” 


82 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Don’t you think it would be good discipline for you 
to wait a little ? ” said the provoking brother. 

44 Thanks,” said Betty. “We have quite enough of 
that, without inflicting it upon ourselves.” 

“ But suppose I should decline to share my goodies ? 
What if I choose to act like the greedy little boy in the 
story, who kept his cake all to himself? ” 

“ Then you’ll be paid for it, as greedy little boys always 
ought to be. Now don’t tease, Roy. Though to be sure, 
it must be a temptation, for you don’t get such a chance 
every day. Only just look at Percy’s eyes ! Surely you 
can never refuse such a pair of special pleaders.” 

“ Well, then. Silence in the court ! But you must wait 
a minute until I find the right place; for understand, 
girls, that I am going to skip all the 4 dear chum ’ part, 
just as you skip the ‘ reflections,' when you read a 
4 goody ’ book. I will begin where the interest — to you — 
comes in, at Archie’s criticisms on the family style of 
taking my doings to heart. He has hit you off cap- 
itally.” 

44 4 About the way in which 44 Ours ” took your proceed- 
ings, I can fancy it all out ; indeed, it seems to me that I 
can see and feel how each of them looked and bore the 
disappointment quite as plainly as if I had been in my old 
place among them. 

44 4 Of course dear Betty had a heartbreak over you, and 
another on my account. The higher we used to fly our 
kites as younglings, and our ambitions as boys of a larger 
growth, the more she used to give us of her enthusiasm 
and sympathy. She is one of those noble helpers who 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


83 


always aid and encourage you by expecting that you will 
give the best that is in you ’ ” 

“ Oh ! ” said Betty, blushing deeply. “ How he shames 
me ! I have not deserved his good opinion.” 

“ ‘ Madame Mere? ” Roy read on, “ ‘ looked more like 
the dear Madonna than ever, with her patient smile and 
the clear eyes that always seem to see the glory beyond. 
After her, Percy had the most fortitude to help you over 
the first pangs, you say ; but I am sure that that stout- 
hearted little hero, Gwin, was not far behind. And when 
Bettine has had a little time to recover from the surprise 
of it, and all that she suffers from it for your sake, you 
will see that she will face the trial right royally ; “it is her 
nature to.” 

“ ‘ How pleasant it is to be writing these dear familiar 
names ! They are always in my thoughts in my leisure 
hours, or rather their owners are ; and whenever I am off 
for my holiday rambles, I have a whole shadow family 
with me. 

“ ‘ When I was in Switzerland, climbing the Alps, I was 
constantly thinking how nice it would be to have that in- 
defatigable, sturdy little Gwin along ; it would have been 
so natural, for somehow she always seemed to me like a 
born' hill-climber ; and I kept myself entertained with fan- 
cying how brave she would be at the crevasses, and how 
at the tiresome backslidings she would just laugh cheer- 
ily, pluck up heart for fresh endeavors, plant her alpen- 
stock more firmly, and — try again ! ... You see I have 
got mental photographs, as well as sun-pictures of you 
all. 


s 4 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ ‘ Tell Bettine that here, in one of the picture-galleries, 
is a copy of the portrait of that lovely Princess Amalia 
who loved the unfortunate Baron von Trenck, and who, 
when he was imprisoned for daring to return her affec- 
tion, destroyed her beauty by the use of poisoned cos- 
metics, so that they could never force her to marry any 
other suitor. Something about the eyes and mouth that 
is both haughty and winning, as she looks down, faintly 
smiling, out of her frame, reminds me so pleasantly of 
our Bettine that I actually go there every day after coffee, 
and make my bow to her Royal Highness, just for the 
sake of the illusion. I try to forget my surroundings — 
fancy very hard that I am at home again, passing your 
house--which is a stretch of the imagination, for that is 
what I couldn’t and wouldn’t do if I were there !— and 
see Bettine at the window — *he picture hangs rather high 
— so I bow very gravely when nobody is looking, and Bet- 
tine smiles down at me in the most agreeable manner, 
and it is altogether a pleasanter little episode than you 
can imagine, who have never been homesick. 

“ ‘ Why does not Percy get well ? Every letter I re- 
ceive from home I rush through to find some good news 
of her ; and none ever comes. I am suspicious that I 
have never been told quite how serious the accident was 
that has laid her up for so long ; or else why is mother’s 
invariable sentence, “ Percy remains about the same ” ? 
Does she never get “ a little better” ? But there, I won’t 
complain so long as she doesn’t get worse. Don’t let her 
forget me, because I can never manage the “great ca- 
reer ” we have so often sketched out without her con- 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


§5 


stant aid and comfort. . . What a queer chance it was 
that once, at a tableau-party, cowled me for a Dante, and 
set her higher, a white-robed Beatrice. I practiced my 
part so well then that I have looked up to her ever since. 
. . No, Percy must not forget me, for like a true and loyal 
knight I still wear her favor. Ask her if she remembers 
the little glove — how Jack Peyton and I both begged for 
it on my last class-day, and how, after teasing us well, 
she gave it to me at last ? Tell her I see many beautiful 
things that I long to send to cheer her in her long illness, 
and yet the only thing I can send is my truest love to her, 
and all of you. 

“ ‘ I understand that my sweetheart, Rose, fears lest my 
affections should be led astray by some small, flaxen-haired, 
beguiling German maiden. It seems that you have told her 
about my little friend, Gretchen, who brings me a nose- 
gay every morning, and whose attentions, I find, are 
not altogether disinterested. She expects to be repaid 
with Christmas-boxes, and she tells me that she has a 
birthday which comes every year. I had no difficulty in 
persuading her that it was very disobliging not to come 
at least twice a year, because in that event she would re- 
ceive twice as many pretty things. But my own little 
sweetheart need have no doubts of me. Toujours fidele 
is my motto, and no rose of Bourbon or Provence, no 
alpen rose or Italian tuberose, can make me forget that 
the little home-Rose that all are praising is still the Rose 
for me.' " 

“ That,” said Roy, pausing and glancing over the re- 
maining pages, “ is all of general interest that he writes, 


86 


THE OLD HOUSE 


I think ; but you can read the rest for yourselves. I 
haven’t the time now to go through all these closely 
written sheets again. But I must give you his closing 
message : 

“ ‘ Ask Percy, from me, if when I come home next 
year she will not walk down to meet me at the garden- 
gate. where we said good-bye. It will be my best greet- 
ing to find her strong and well enough for that.’ ” 

Persis smiled with lips that quivered faintly. 

“ Poor Archie ! He does not dream what a helpless 
cripple I am.” And to herself she added : “ I shall 
never walk again — perhaps not be here to see him, when 
he comes.” 

“ Ah ! ” exclaimed Gwin, whose eyes were devouring 
the pages Roy had left unread to follow his mother from 
the room, “ Roy left the best of it ! I knew Archie would 
think so ! Just listen to what he says, girls : 

“ * The choice you made was not an easy one — I feel 
that — and it was like you to do it. I could envy you the 
deed, and the having such sisters to be strong and heroic 
for. What an inspiration they have been to you ! Yes, 
I should have really to envy you, did I not compromise 
the matter with myself, and borrow them instead ; 
“ play” they are mine too, as Betty and Gwin used to say 
when they kept baby-house in the garden arbor, years 
ago, and you and I, mounted on frisky walking-sticks, 
did a tremendous business in bread pills, and the ampu- 
tation of dolls’ legs and arms. 

“ ‘ It’s a wonderful thing, how far the influence of an 
action, whether good or evil, may spread. It may even. 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


87 


like the star-rays, reach down the ages ! Anyhow, it 
reaches over the ocean ; far away off here, I learn what 
you have done, and all my life looks poor and mean in the 
light of it, showing me that while I have been making 
myself comfortable over what I am going to do, you have 
cast comfort aside, and made the plunge. ... You have 
given me a rough shake, and just when I needed it. The 
change can make no difference with you and me. We 
are companions-in-arms still and always.’ ” 

“That is grand,” Betty commented. “But Archie 
Yorke need never pretend that he is not just as noble as 
Roy. There isn’t a pin’s difference between them in that 
respect ; although, of course, I love Roy best, because he 
is my brother.” 

“ Oh, of course. And yet it seems a little hard on 
Archie, for you know he has ‘borrowed ’ us.” 

“ “ I am so glad he has written at last, for do you know, 
Gwin, I have been having one of my blue-black turns, 
this week or more; — as if something dismal was hanging 
over me, with a close, choky smell, like crape, — a sick 
feeling, as if something dreadful was going to happen, 
only I don’t know what. I was beginning to fear that 
Archie might be ill, or worse , when the letter came.” 

“ And made you light at heart again ? ” Gwin asked. 

“ No,” said Betty, “ it has not had that effect at all. I 
am as heavy-hearted as before, only I don’t worry about 
Archie now. Gwin,” she lowered her tone, “ have you 
noticed how sorry mother’s face has grown, and how 
anxious Roy has been looking, as if he were waiting in 
great dread of something? ” 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“No, indeed ; I have not noticed anything special ; it’s 
a family habit to pull long faces, nowadays. But there’s 
quite enough to keep mother looking worried and Roy 
anxious without your going and having presentiments, 
Betty North ! You can’t make me superstitious, though ! 
I tried it once on Halloween, — almost broke my neck go- 
ing up to bed backward, made myself nearly sick with 
the quantity of salt I was obliged to swallow stuffed into 
an egg, and after all, I never dreamed a thing.” 

Betty laughed, but ended with a heavy sigh. 

“Now, Betty, you are nervous! ” Gwin exclaimed en- 
ergetically. “ I shall make you a bowl of ginger tea, and 
send you to bed, at once.” 

“We are not playing baby-house in the arbor now,’* 
remonstrated Betty, who abhorred ginger tea. 

“ No ; but we are keeping house in real earnest ; and 
instead of sick dolls, I shall have a sick sister on my 
hands, if I don’t ‘play doctor,’ or nurse.” 



ON BRIAR HILL. 


89 


VIII. 

“As we Forgive.” 

While his sisters were going over the pages of Archie 
Yorke’s letter that Roy had left unread, he had sought 
and found his mother in the study, a little room which 
opened out of the library, and to which the children of 
the house seldom came of late. In this room they had, 
in the days gone by, prepared their lessons for school, 
but just now their lessons were not learned out of books, 
and they thought they were not going to school. 

Here, when Professor North was at home, and he was 
much at home, since he had no longer any duties to call 
him away, he would sit for hours alone among his books 
and papers, seldom either reading or writing, but staring 
gloomily at the- fire. Even that cheerful companion could 
not arouse him from his melancholy musings. 

Here Roy found his mother alone ; he had made sure 
of that before he entered the room. 

Mrs. North had made the little room very pleasant by 
1 arranging the maps and papers on the table, making a 
place among them for a sprig of fragrant geranium in a 
glass, drawing the easy chairs nearer the hearth, in token 
that she expected another comer presently, and lighting 
the alabaster-shaded lamp. 

She was sitting in one of the easy chairs, within the 
soft circle of light and sewing, when Roy came in. 


9 ° 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“Did you come to sit with your father, Roy?” she 
asked, looking up with a pleased smile. “ I think he 
would be glad of it, if he were here.” 

“ Why no, mother ; that was not why I came,” said 
Roy, frankly. “ I should not have come in if I had not 
known he was out ; for I thought he would be better 
pleased not to see me.” 

“You are wrong, Roy,” said Mrs. North. 

“ In thinking ” 

“Yes ; and in staying away.” 

Roy leaned thoughtfully against the mantel. After a 
few moments oi silence, he said : 

“You must be right, mother. But it is„a difficult mat- 
ter to manage. Father does not meet me half way; he 
even seems to avoid meeting me at all ; and I can’t force 
myself upon him.” 

“ That is where you make the mistake, Roy. Can you 
not imagine that, sensitive as he must be, he would feel 
it impossible to ask for, or even seem to invite, the service 
it would be so sweet to receive from his children, provided 
it were not unwillingly given ? ” 

“ I had not thought of it in that light.” 

“ Then think of it so now. I would not have you leave 
any room for self-reproach hereafter, my dear. I know 
he can never forgive himself for the sorrows he has unin- 
tentionally brought upon you ; and he broods unceasingly 
over evils it is too late to retrieve. He had hoped to save 
something until the very last. We must remember that 
misfortunes bring great anxiety of mind, and there are 
some natures that have no strength to bear trouble, while 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


9 1 


there is any possible escape from it. And we dare not 
iudgo harshly, dare we, Roy ? " 

“ Mother, I don’t judge — I don’t even let myself think 
of these things.” 

“ You cannot always put it away from you, Roy. It is 
better to meet it now than bye-and-bye to feel vain re- 
grets. In the days to come it may comfort you children 
to remember that you made it plain to him, by your ac- 
tions, that you have forgiven ." 

“ I am glad you have spoken, mother ; only I don’t like 
to even remember that I have anything to forgive my fa- 
ther for ; — it seems almost like breaking the command- 
ment. Let me think, instead, that I have been an undu- 
tiful son, and help me to get back into the right path. . . 
Might I come and sit with him for a little while this even- 
ing, do you think? Would he like to have me? I suppose 
we should not feel very much like talking to each other, just 
yet ; but I might make it comfortable for both of us by 
bringing the evening papers and reading to him. Would 
that do?" 

“ I think it would be well, for your sake as well as his. 

I will tell your father what you have proposed, if you like, 
when he comes." 

“ I wish you would. But this was not what I came to 
speak about, mother. I wanted to tell you that I — that 
Percy — how shall I say it ? ... I wanted to ask you if 
you have noticed any change in her, these last weeks? " 
“In Percy? Yes, my dear boy. I have seen it only 
too plainly. Our poor darling grows weaker day by 
day." 


92 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Do you think ” 

“ That it is serious ? Is that what you mean, Roy ? ” 

“ She has grown so light, mother, she is hardly so 
heavy as Rose when I lift her. O, mother — have we got 
to lose her ? ” 

“We have got to hold fast to hope, my dear, and to 
wear cheerful faces. It will do her no good to read our 
fears in our eyes. I dare to hope that it is only the chang- 
ing weather, that makes her so pale and languid. But I 
know very well that there is room for our worst fears. The 
doctor is not at all encouraging, and indeed, if I entirely 
depended upon him, I should think there was no hope, 
but I know it is his way to be dubious and non-commit- 
tal. Still, my dear, if it does come, we will try to think 
only of how much better and more beautiful the new life 
will be for her ; and I don’t think we have learned to be 
selfish in the trials that have come to us, my son.” 

She laid her arm fondly around his shoulder, and spoke 
in a quiet, strong, patient way, that touched him deeply. 
He held his hand before his eyes, in a silence that lasted 
many minutes ; and when he looked up at last, and kissed 
his mother’s cheek, his dark lashes glistened, while as he 
spoke there was a quiver in his voice. 

“We talk of heroes in this house, but you are the true 
heroine, mother. I thought / could be almost brave and 
strong enough for anything, but I can’t think how to give 
Percy up. It is the hardest trial of all, and in the fear of 
it everything else seems absolutely trivial.” 

' Mrs. North breathed a long, weary sigh. 

“ I know it ; I feel it ! But ‘ Whom God loveth, he 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


93 


also chasteneth,’ Roy. It is something to be thought 
worthy of His scourge.’* 

Her voice was sweet and patient, but Roy felt through 
all its comfort that it was also sad. 

Percy hetself, who had struggled hard against the daily 
increasing weakness, had at last been forced to admit 
that she was not strong enough to keep on with her 
teaching, and Rose must take a vacation. 

No more embroidery was begun to fill the place of that 
which had been sent home to Mrs. Caryl ; and the visible 
work in that workshop ceased. 

Yet, though she lay with idly folded hands, resting upon 
her pillows all the day long, Percy talked cheerfully, and 
made many plans about all that she meant to do for her- 
self and others, when she got stronger. Only that day, 
she had said to them : 

“ How full my life is going to be of work, after all ! 
And I thought, when I was first laid here so helpless, 
that I could never do, or be, anything that was worth the 
while again. Which shows how foolish it is to be miser- 
able about the things of the future — for they may never 
come, after all, and then you have afflicted yourself all for 
nothing.” 

After a little longer talk with his mother, which soothed 
if it could not wholly comfort him, Roy left her, saying 
that he would go down to the village and get the latest 
evening paper, and thinking as he went that this new 
duty he had assumed would so occupy his spare time as 
to leave him little leisure to indulge in his useless anx- 
ieties. 


94 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Shortly after he had gone, Betty hurried into the little 
study, laughing and breathless. 

“ I am a fugitive from Gwin, mother,” she explained, 
“ and I have come to take sanctuary here. . She will not 
dare to be tyrannical in your protecting presence.” 

“Why, what is the matter, my dear?” 

“ Oh, she insists upon * ministering to a mind diseased,' 
and her favorite remedies are bed, slow suffocation under 
warm blankets, and ginger tea a little hotter than one 
can possibly drink it. I believe she must have got her 
notions of parboiling people from that dreadful Cyn- 
thia.” 

“ But aren’t you feeling well, Betty ? You should have 
told me before.” 

“ I am well enough in body, mother ; but I unfortu- 
nately had a temporary lapse of memory, and in a weak 
moment I confessed to her that I have been suffering un- 
der one of my heavy-hearted turns for a good many days, 
feeling as if nothing was worth the while, or ‘ as if some- 
thing was going to happen.’ I can’t imagine what it is 
that makes me have such moods, but they are dreadful — 
much worse than actual pain, worse even than a tooth- 
ache, but something like the horrible, sick dread of hav- 
ing one coming on. . . . Do you believe in such a thing 
as one’s having presentiments of misfortune, mother?” 

“ No, dear ; I have not the slightest faith in it. And if 
you will only think back a little, you will remember that 
although you have had the same sort of feeling several 
times in your life, the only thing that ever ‘ happened ’ 
was your getting over it. You have been staying too 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


95 


closely at home, and it has made you a little nervous, I 
suspect.” 

“ That was what Gwin thought.” 

“ Now sit down quietly with me here, Betty, and let 
me talk with you a little while about something which 
Roy and I have decided upon,” said the mother, cheer- 
fully. " I shall like to know what you will think about it.” 

“ Oh, it is sure to be the wisest, brightest and best pos- 
sible decision, if you and Roy have come to it.” 

“ That won’t do, Betty. There are some questions that 
each must settle for himself.” 

Betty drew a low tabouret to her mother’s feet, and 
sinking down upon it, said with a sigh of relief : 

“ It is good to be here. . I wish we could have more of 
you than we ever get, nowadays. You are such a com- 
fort to me, mother ! ” 

She rested her pretty head on her mother’s knee, and 
looked up with fond eyes into the loving face that bent so 
tenderly over her. 

“Sometimes I wonder, mother, what we should do 
without you, and then I grow so frightened at my N 
thoughts that a sort of dumb agony comes over me, and 
and I actually run away from myself ! I do — and try to 
get somebody to talk to me, so that I may drive it away. 
Oh, I am such a little coward that I should really have to 
be ashamed of myself, if I were not obliged to pity my- 
self, instead. Are you quite ashamed of me? ” 

“ I might be more so, I think,” said Mrs. North, 
smiling. 

“ That’s a comfort,” Betty went on, patting her moth- 


comfort,” 


9 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


er’s hand. “ But one never comes to you in vain for com- 
fort, no matter how wretched and hopeless the days may 
be. You are the one unswampable good in our sea of 
troubles ! Are we going to have more of them ? Have 
I got to be prepared for something hard to bear? ” 

“ I trust you will not find it so. Roy does not — indeed, 
I think he found some happiness in it. You know there 
is very much, either of help or hindrance, in the way in 
which we look at things. I have heard people speak of 
performing ‘a disagreeable duty,’ for instance, but I be- 
lieve if we were right-minded and nobly wise we should 
never dream of associating the two. Duty ought to imply 
something of the blessedness it leads to.” 

“ There is something you think I ought to do which I 
have left undone, mother.” 

“ There is something which you have forgotten, and I 
would have you think of it before it is too late.” 

Betty watched her face attentively, a little surprised at 
these words, when she had fancied she was making hope- 
ful progress in the ways of reform.” 

“We were talking of your father this evening. Have 
you seen him lately, my dear ? ” 

“I never see him now,” said Betty, conscious that she 
always ran away from any possible encounter. 

“He sits in his study day after day, brooding over 
his unhappy thoughts, from which he cannot flee, as 
you do from yours. I cannot be with him so much as I 
would, for just now Persis seems to be ailing, and I do 
not like to be away from her for long at a time. And 
here he sits alone for hours, and thinks of the children he 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


97 


has always loved, even while he has brought sorrow to 
them ; and when I come back to him he looks so crushed, 
so shut away from home, so desolate, it makes me very 
sad.” 

Betty had changed her position while her mother was 
speaking, and for some time she sat looking meditatively 
at the fire. When at last she spoke, it was very humbly : 

“ I am afraid I have been very wicked ; I can’t find any 
excuse for myself. But I am so sorry, mother. I will 
find something to do for father, that shall show you I am 
sincere in that. And I shall need to prove it to my§elf, 
too, now that I really see how wickedly I was going on.” 

“ Oh, you are too hard upon yourself now, Betty.” 

“You would not say so if you knew all, mother. There 
was a long, long time after Percy was brought home that 
way when my heart was as hard as a rock, and full of 
bitterness against him for all the misery that was coming 
about our lives, and that had so crushed poor Persis. 
And how do you think, mother, that your naughty, fro- 
ward little girl came to abetter state of mind — for I am in 
a better state of mind, or I should not be confessing my 
sins, I suppose ! Well, it was through dear Percy her- 
self, who lay there like an angel, patiently bearing all her 
sufferings, and never murmuring, never even moaning 
when she could possibly choke it back, lest it should seem 
a reproach to him ; and every morning sending some 
little cheerful message to him, either ‘Tell father I am 
better this morning,' or, * Let father know that I had a 
very good night,’ so that he might understand that she 
did not blame him for the accident. At first, when she 


9 8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


used to give me those messages, and indeed, for a long 
time, I would not carry them myself, but got little Rose 
to do it for me. If Percy forgave him, / did not, and I 
felt that my very face would tell him how hard my heart 
was towards him. But when I saw that Percy was aware 
of it, and how sorry it made her, I think I did try to over- 
come it. If she could forgive so cruel an injury, I could 
learn to forgive, too. And now I want to make myself 
sure that I have succeeded.” 

“ That is very wise, Betty. Suffering for deeds ill done, 
or for duties left undone, is a bitter experience, when it is 
too late to make amends.” 

“ How hard it is to always do the right thing, mother. 
I don’t mean that this is going to be hard ; only that 
when we have fully resolved to do our best, we don’t al- 
ways see what the right thing is. I should never have 
thought of this as a duty, I am afraid, if you had not set 
me on the right track. I am so glad you spoke.” 

They heard the great hall door open and close ; Roy’s 
light, quick step came down the passage, and he entered, 
glowing from his brisk walk in the fresh air. 

“ It is all right, mother,” he said cheerfully, laying his 
packet of papers on the table. “I’ve got all the latest 
editions. Have you spoken to father ? Hasn’t he come 
in yet? ” 

“ I think I heard him go into the library a little while 
ago,” said Betty. 

Roy instantly stepped to the door, with his papers in 
his band. As he opened it, there came a crash, and a 
wild, terrified scream, that rang through the hall. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


99 


The next moment Gwin, white with alarm, came 
swiftly towards them, wringing" her hands, and crying in 
distress : 

“ Mother — Roy — help — oh ! quick ! quick ! ” 

Roy sprang forward, flung his arm about her, and de- 
manded anxiously : 

“ What is it, darling? Are you hurt? " 

“ Oh, no, no ! ” she answered pathetically. “ It isn't 
that ; don’t mind me ! Pray go ” 

They clustered around her in a frightened group, with 
paling faces and lips that trembled so they could hardly 
question her. The sight of their trouble aroused Gwin, 
and as her wonted helpfulness and courage came back 
she mastered her terror enough to sob out shudderingly, 
as she pointed towards the library door : 

“ Go to him — poor father — in there.” 

Mrs. North and Roy instantly entered the library ; but 
Betty remained behind, taking Gwin in her arms, kissing 
her tenderly, and whispering touching little words of love 
to soothe and comfort her. Roy hurried back in a few 
moments. 

“ He is very ill. It was a severe attack, and he is quite 
unconscious. I am going at once for the doctor. And 
girls, mother has no one to help her while I am gone, but 
you. Can’t you be brave and strong, for her sake ? ” 

“ We will be,” Gwin said, with wan lips. 

“You may depend upon us, Roy,” Betty answered, 
and something in her grave look, as well as in her reso- 
lute tone, assured him that she would not fail. 

S 5 
5 ) > 

* > > 




IOO 


THE OLD HOUSE 


IX. 

Snowdrops. 

In the first days that followed the advent of that illness 
which left their father, lying mute and unconscious, a sad 
and oppressive gloom filled the house. 

Betty forgot her presentiments, and, alas ! some of 
those good resolutions she occasionally comforted herself 
by making. Then, to make matters worse, she knew she 
had “backslidden,” and grew discouraged. 

“Nothing seems worth while,” said Gwin, disturbed 
that she had lost all interest in the household cares she 
had undertaken to perform. “ The things we do every 
day, and make a good part of our lives, mock us now, by 
their very littleness. Life wouldn’t be very comfortable, 
I am sure, if we did not dust and put up things, but it 
seems shocking to be busying ourselves so, when such a 
terrible change is creeping upon us.” 

“Always something that we must wait for and dread,” 
Betty sighed. “I am 'half-sick of shadows,’ like the 
Lady of Shalott, and I only wish I had her chance of es- 
cape from them. But the little boat doesn’t lie waiting 
for me by the riverside, and sometimes I think it never 
will drift along to bear me out into the sunshine.” 

“ Why, Be.tty, isn’t that wishing for death ? ” 

“ It is wishing for release — for the end of shadows, even 
if it should be the end of life itself. Do you think that is 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


IOI 


wicked, Gwin ? I don’t mean to be that , but even the 
hymn tells me, by way of comfort, 

“ 1 Beyond the frost-chain and the fever, 

Beyond the ever and forever, 

I shall be soon,’ 

and promises ‘ Love, rest and home.’ Isn’t it right to 
wish for heaven ? ” 

“ I don’t know how I ought to answer that,” Gwin re- 
plied, detecting some anxiety in Betty’s tones. “ Perhaps 
we are not right in wishing very much for anything dif- 
ferent, so long as we say, ‘Thy Will be done.’ We must 
ask mother about it, some time. But I can tell you what 
dear Miss Calista said. She talked to us about heaven 
the very last Sunday she was with us. She told us she 
believed heaven to be a state as well as a place, and that 
we could have a foretaste of it in the state, before we were 
called home to the fullness of the joy. I wish you could 
have heard her, with her sweet ‘ my dears,’ that seemed 
to fold us into her very heart, and pray over us the sort 
of prayers that are answered. ‘ My dears,’ she said, ‘our 
Lord would not have bidden us pray, “ Thy kingdom 
come, on earth as it is in heaven,” unless it were possible 
to make a heaven on earth ; and that, I think, must be 
the heaven which is a state.’ She said that this heaven- 
making was a part of our duty in life, some of the every- 
day business, and the ‘ place ’ is where we may go when 
our heaven-work on earth is finished. In that way, I sup- 
pose you were right to wish for it. And isn’t it a good 
thought, Betty dear, that we are heaven-makers ourselves, 
if we choose to be ? ” 


102 


T PI E OLD HOUSE 


“ Ah ! I should have to be somebody other than Betty 
North to be that, Gwin, and I cant. Don’t you remem- 
ber the hundreds of fine cords, almost threads, with 
which the Liliputians bound Gulliver, hand and foot, to 
the ground ? That’s the way with me ; my cords are 
faults — small ones, I hope, but it is the number of them 
that I can’t break away from. ... I can’t un-Betty my- 
self! ” she concluded, in a hopeless strain. 

“ I don’t believe in ‘can’ts,’ my dear. It is the laziest, 
worst kind of excuse I know of. Don’t you think it really 
means, almost always : “ It is too much trouble, and I 
don’t want to ? ” 

So spoke Mrs. North, who had entered unobserved, and 
heard much of the preceding talk. 

“ Hercules’ labors of strangling serpents, overcoming 
monsters, and cleansing the Augean stables, were not al- 
together fables; the same work is to be done again and 
again in the world, but the purifying and reforming will 
not be done by the men and women who indulge them- 
selves with * I can’t.’ . . . Think of the great things that 
have been accomplished. They have looked impossible 
at the start, and if ever such excuse was reasonable, it 
would have been in the face of such uncertainties and 
dangers as hedged them about. How sensible would have 
seemed to the people of his day Columbus’ ‘ I can’t,’ in- 
stead of his setting out over unknown seas to discover a 
new world ; or Martin Luther’s, instead of the noble work 
that wrought the Reformation.” 

“ Oh, I am convinced, mother. I know I have not a 
shadow of an excuse for not Lutherizing myself. The 


ON BRIAR II I L L. 


I0 3 


pity of it is, I have known it all along, but I don’t do it.” 

“And we will be heaven-makers, won’t we, Betty?” 
Gwin whispered, kissing the lovely cheek by way of 
period. 

“ Very well.” Betty assented, with a smile that strug- 
gled to be bright, and was only tremulous. “Order me 
one hundred brooms of sunshine, and when all these 
shadows are swept out, I’ll begin.” 

“ Why ! ” said Gwin, “ then there would be no need of 
you. It would have made itself.” 

It is easy to talk, Betty thought. But out of all the 
talk she seemed to get no help. Where was the place to 
begin? False starts never helped matters along. Sup- 
pose she took up this work of many pieces, and began it 
anywhere, without understanding the pattern ? What a 
misshapen, useless thing, would be the result ! and all 
her work for nothing. 

These thoughts troubled her only fitfully now, flitting 
through the gloom, as belated swallows flit through the 
twilight to their nests under the eaves. She was unhappy 
about her father. The sense of the things she had left 
undone was a miserable burden ; for after all her good 
intentions had been marked by no deed, and it was al- 
most as bad as repenting too late. 

“What I always mean, when I plan out my life, is to 
do right because it is right. That ought to be enough ; 
I am sure the grandest characters were built up in that 
beljef. And it seems ignoble to do the right thing be- 
cause of the reward, or to refrain from wrong because of 
the punishment.” 


Percy smiled, and quoted : 

“ * And because right is right, to follow right 
Were wisdom in the scorn of consequence.’ 

That is the kind of wisdom you would like to act upon. I 
think you would like to be a goddess, Betty." 

“Yes, I would, if it gave me power to see clear, and 
follow right in scorn of consequence. Wouldn’t that be 
a perfect life ? But you’ve got to be set apart, on a pedes- 
tal, out of the flurry, to live up to it. At least, / have. 
When I am up on my pedestal, I think that is how I will 
do ; but when I get into the midst of things I forget the 
goddess, and just act myself. I do or don’t do things 
with an eye to the reward or the penalty, and that’s what 
I hate /" exclaimed Betty, vehemently. “1 never won a 
prize at school that I did not feel half as much shame as 
pleasure over it. What business had I ever to do any- 
thing but my best ! And why should I carry off any 
honors for that ? The girls need not have envied me. It 
was not altogether delightful to receive the prize, and 
compliments, and bouquets, and all the while to know 
that I had worked hard for such a trumpery end. I de- 
spise it, and yet I can’t get out of the habit. I long to 
have a right to the pedestal, and I one of the very grov- 
elers— considerably worse than the common run of 
mortals " 

The doctor came and went ; the nurse came and staid. 
Mrs. Denham was an angel unaware to Betty, for within 
twelve hours of her advent she came to her privately, to 
ask : 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


105 


“ My dear, do you think you could spell me once in a 
while at the bedside ? There ain’t so much to be done — 
that’s the wust on’t. Only ’t won’t do to leave the patient 
alone, and I don’t want your mother to tax her strength 
— not yet awhile. ” 

“ May I, Mrs. Denham ? I shall be so glad.” 

“ I kind o’ thought I could depend on you,” said Mrs. 
Denham. “T’other one’s ’most too young; though if 
you find it bears too hard on you, mebby she’ll take it, 
turn and turn about. You see it’s nothing but constant 
watching that we can do, and it don’t seem wuth while 
to call in anybody else.” 

“ It won’t be too hard for me,” Betty declared, finding 
this opening to serve her father almost as comforting as 
a pardon spoken ; and when Mrs. Denham’s half-hours 
for eating and rest came, Betty kept her watch with ten- 
der faithfulness. Another piece of Mrs. Denham's un- 
conscious angel ministering came through her insisting 
on daily out-of-door exercise for Betty. 

“ ’Twon’t do for you to stay moping in the house all day 
long, if you are to be any help for me,” said that kindly 
authority, “ Take a little walk out in the fresh air every 
morning, my dear. It’s good for you, and an ounce of 
prevention is wuth more’n any medicine I know on.” 

Betty never went beyond the garden, but there she obe- 
diently took her 4 ounce ” daily ; and as she paced the 
Jong paths, she found the earliest blooms of snowdrops 
in the neglected borders. To these she made a pilgrim- 
age every morning, and as fast as the buds were out she 


gathered them into two bunches ; one to gladden Percy’s 
eyes, one to lay upon her father’s pillow. * 

She thought them little, scentless, almost worthless 
offerings, like her late-remembered duty and care ; and 
still she was almost grievecf when the dull eyes, that rec- 
ognized nothing, rested upon her snowdrops with the 
same vacant gaze, day after day. 

But at last — at last, when the hope was dying within 
her, the eyes looking on the blossoms knew them, — 
sought her , — knew her, and smiled, though the .poor lips 
were dumb. But that smile ! It was balm of healing to 
Betty’s remorse. It recognized her tardy penitence, her 
reawakened love, in the meek offering of snowdrops ; it 
accepted them, and forgave her. 

Gently stooping, Betty raised the poor, palsied hand, 
and kissed it. Perhaps it could not feel the soft touch of 
lips which mutely told her thanks, but the heart unpalsied 
knew, and the eyes still smiled. 

"‘•You blessed little peacemakers!” she thought, kiss- 
ing the snowdrops before she laid them on the pillow ; 
and she knew that another spring they would make a 
grave beautiful with their starry blossoms and that 
memory. 

At the close of the day in which Mrs. North had over- 
heard Betty’s shadow-talk, she came to sit restfully among 
her daughters. 

The quiet twilight hour which it was her custom to 
spend with them, Persis loved to call their “ cool of the 
day,” because of its sweet and holy influences. The first 
question, always of late, was about their father, and she 


told them that his journey through the valley was draw- 
ing near its end. 

‘‘I am afraid of death when it comes so near,” Gwin 
exclaimed, with a nervous shudder. \ 

“ That is because you think of it with wrong and dis- 
mal associations, the funeral hymns full of wail and an- 
guish, the ‘worms that destroy this body,’ and the * dust 
to dust ’ ; but if, instead, you heard only exultant strains; 
if no words were spent upon this poor, perishable clay, 
and we dwelt only upon the freed, purified soul, received 
into glory ; if we thought not of the grave, but of Christ’s 
triumph over it, and spoke of death only as the sleep 
which God gives to his beloved, then, my dear, I think 
you would have wiser and happier thoughts about it, and 
never be afraid of its nearness again.” 

“It is passing through the Valley of the Shadow,” 
Betty said, “and it is full of gloom.” 

“ That depends upon us,” answered the mother. “ It 
could not have been ‘ full of gloom ’ to those Christian 
martyrs who sang their triumphant strain amid the very 
flames of death. We are told that we may 

“ ‘ Make Life, Death, and the Vast Forever 
One grand, sweet song,’ 

and amid the very fagots the saints taught us that it was 
possible. And what does another singer tell us ? ‘ Yea, 

even though I walk through the valley, Thy rod and Thy 
staff, they comfort me.’ . . . The rod comes first for most 
of us, Betty ; adversity is the blessing of the New Testa- 
ment, a wise man has written ; but the staff and the com- 
fort surely follow.” 


io8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ What a stiff-necked generation we must be to need 
so much rod and scourge,” said Betty. 

“ My dear, did you ever watch in the spring-time how 
a farmer goes about his work ? ” 

“ I have some idea of what he does.” 

“ He ploughs up his field and harrows it, but he does 
not treat it so roughly because it is poor, worthless land ; 
it might lie fallow, or be half-tilled and grow a scanty 
crop, hardly worth reaping, but he means it for some bet- 
ter work than that. He sows corn ; but he does not leave 
the rest to the dews and sunshine. Still must the ground 
be fretted with rake and hoe, and the weeds rooted out 
with unceasing patience. He forecasts for a rich harvest, 
and because he so cultivates his field it gives bread to the 
world. Only for the plough and harrow, it might have 
turned out a sorrel-barren, of no good to any creature. 
The good husbandman gives it a chance to do its best.” 

“ The farmer is better to his field than fate is to some 
people,” said Betty. 

“ I don’t know how you can say that,” Gwin declared ; 
“ I thought fate had plenty of patent harrowers to culti- 
vate people with. I’ve been under that sort of cultivation 
myself — a little.” 

“You are not quite happy about things as they are 
now, Betty, but what would you have altered, if it lay in 
your power ? ” 

“ Everything ! ” said Betty, with a grand, sweeping 
gesture. 

“ That shows, my dear, how little you understand your- 
self,” pursued Mrs. North, with gentle patience. “I know 


you better than that. Suppose it were possible for you 
to have your choice. Suppose an angel would come to 
you and say, You are a fair soul ; a noble destiny awaits 
you ; you shall be an angel of love and charity to many 
starving and desolate hearts ; you shall become as one of 
those messengers whose feet are beautiful, and in both 
hands you shall bring gifts to the needy, if only you will 
patiently submit to the lessons which will teach you these 
things. To lighten the cross of others you must have 
borne one yourself ; or you may remain like the barren 
field, uncultivated, unfertile, bringing forth no good thing; 
and you would choose ” 

“ The plough, harrow, and torture, of course/' said 
Betty. ‘‘That’s the spiritual of me; but the human 
shrinks from it, after all.” 

“ Do you mean what you say, Betty ? ‘ Really and 

truly, blackly and bluely ’ ?” 

“ Yes, I do mean it. Why do you ask, Gwin ?” 

“ Because the angel has come, and you have chosen, 
and so, things being just as you would have them, you 
must not be sorry any more.” 

“ O-h-h-o !” sighed a small voice out of the corner. 

“ What, Rose ? you taking up my cast-off burden ? 
That will never do, pet !” exclaimed Betty. “ What is 
the matter ?” 

“I don’t know,” was Rose’s pathetic answer. “I 
guess it feels forlorn !” 

“ Me miserable !” said Betty contritely. “ What tares 
I have been sowing all unawares !” 

“ So it is forlorn for little wee-bits like you, who can’t 


IIO 


THE OLD HOUSE 


understand tall talk. Come here. Sweeting, and I will 
tell you a spic-span new story. It is a shame to forget 
our little blossom so !” 

“ Really a new one, Gwin ?” The small voice was all 
in a hurry of eagerness, and the suspicion of forlornness 
already forgotten. 

.“An out-and-outer! You’ll see. I composed it on 
purpose — been hours about it. You’ve no idea what 
pains I have taken with it. Perhaps you did not notice 
how my hair all curls the wrong way, with my twisting it 
to get the thoughts out properly ? Never mind ! I guess 
it will be the very prettiest story you ever heard.” 

“Prettier than the Culprit Fay?” cried Rose, delight- 
edly. 4 

“Wait and see.” 

Gwin took the little girl upon her lap, and cradled her 
tenderly in her arms. 

“ The trouble is how to begin,” she said. 

“ Yes, it is the start that bothers one,” Betty put in. 
“ But why can’t you follow the old fashion ? Say ‘ Once 
upon a time.’ ” 

“No. This is to be new all over. I guess I’ll begin 
with * Know all people by these presents.’ I want 
something to sound like like a flourish of trumpets.” 

“ Did the little girl get presents ?” asked Rose. 

“ Yes— several, and the most curious things.” 

“ What is its name ?” 

“ Its name is — In the Midst of Things ; and hers is 
Mopsa, Sweeting. Now you shall hear what she wished, 
what she found, and whaj she did.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


Ill 


X. 

** In the Midst of Things.” 

“ Mopsa looked down on her tatters, and suddenly re- 
solved that it wasn’t to be borne any longer — meaning 
her condition, not her clothes. 

“ Who was Mopsa? 

“ Why, she was a young person with only one posses- 
sion in the world — her energy. 

“ Oh, I forgot, she had a fairy godmother. 

“ Of course she had, for where else could she have got 
good advice, and things ? 

“ This little maid, all tattered and torn, lived down in 
the valley, where the people who were busy had no time 
to notice her, and the people who were not, had great 
riches, and were much too haughty to take thought con- 
cerning such small ragamuffinesses as Mopsa. 

“ They did not know that she had a fairy godmother, 
or it might have been different. Perhaps she didn’t know 
it herself. That is a point which history has never made 
quite clear ; but it does not signify. 

“ Well, Mopsa, grubbing about, hungry, ragged and 
neglected, with — I am shocked to say — a dirty face,' but 
a pretty clean heart, or the godmother would not have 
come near her, you may believe, saw the sunset light 
shining away upon the distant hill-tops, while the sun it- 
self dropped into the tumbled-up waves of the sea, and 
black shadows grew thick in the valley ; and she thought 


1 1 2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


how she hated to be where she was, and how she should 
like to go up and live in the glow. 

“ Then she looked down on her muddy feet, her poor 
rags, and at the rickety old shed in which she curled her- 
self up at night, and she said, with immense decision : 

“ ‘ It can’t be borne any longer ! ' 

“‘Very good!’ said the godmother, popping up sud- 
denly out of an ivy bush. It was quite startling, and she 
was such a funny little old dame, in high, red heels, a 
black, steeple-crowned hat, and yellow petticoat ! 

“ Mopsa might have been afraid, and run away, only 
her smile was so sweet. 

“ * Very good ! ’ said Madame in the ivy bush ; ‘I’ve 
been waiting to hear you say that.’ 

“ ‘ Have you, ma’am ? ’ asked Mopsa. 

“ The old dame nodded, and wagged her tall hat oddly 
enough. 

“ ‘ It can’t be borne any longer, hey ? Well, and what 
do you want to do ? ’ 

“ ‘Work,’ said Mopsa. ‘ Something that’s awful nice, 
you know.’ 

“ ‘ Good, again ! ’ said the fairy. * You shall. I’m your 
godmamma, my dear, and when you ask for sensible 
things I mean you shall have ’em. Good children must 
be encouraged ! But mind you stick to the work I shall 
give you. You must be a faithful servant.’ 

“ ‘ Am I to be a servant ? ’ 

“ ‘ Of course. That’s what all workers are ; bees, 
beetles, sun, moon, stars, — I’m one myself.’ 

“ ‘ Oh ! ’ said Mopsa. 


/ 


ON BRIAR HILL. II3 


“ ‘ First you must go up the hill ; it’s a long, hard 
climb, but what does that matter, if you are in earnest ? 
At the top you will find a little cot. That’s yours. I 
built it expressly, the day you were born. All along the 
way you’ll find the things you’ll be likely to need up there 
— if you’re in earnest, and look sharp. Up at the top, 
your work waits for you. Do your best ; that’s enough 
for any one ; can’t ask for more ! Right to ask for that , 
though! Now be off with you, my dear, and good 
fuck ! ” 

“ ‘ But won’t you please give me some plainer direc- 
tions ? ’ asked Mopsa, looking rather worried about the 
business. 

“‘Plainer directions! Pff!’ cried the fairy. ‘Why 
should you bother me with that ? Look for ’em in the 
stones ; find 'em in the bushes ; they’re scattered all 
around you, everywhere. If they were bears, they’d eat 
you up ! ’ And the idea tickled her so hugely, she laughed 
until the tears ran down her nose. 

*“Dear godmother ’ began Mopsa, and stopped 

short in astonishment to find herself addressing nothing 
but an ivy bush. The old lady had vanished as she came 
— with dispatch. 

“ The next morning Mopsa climbed the hill. 

“ Being pretty sensible, and in dead earnest about it, 
she looked sharp, as she was told, and she found some 
curious things. She had traveled about a mile when she 
grew very thirsty, and began to look about for water. 

“Before long she came to a bubbling fountain, all 
moss-rimmed, and fringed with ferns. On the bank be- 


THE OLD HOUSE 


1 1 4 


side it stood a stone cruse. Mopsa filled it, and drank. 
Then she filled it again, and hung it at her girdle. 

“ ‘ There mayn’t be any bucket up there,’ she said. 
* Or I, or somebody, might be thirsty on the way. 

“ Presently she came to a fine coil of silver cord. 

“‘Well,’ she said, after considerable reflection, ‘I 
might need it, to train morning glories, or something.' 

“ So she hung that at her girdle on the other side. 

“ At noon, just as it grew too hot for anything, she 
drew aside to rest under a wide-spreading, green tree. 
On its lowest branch hung a little, three-stringed harp. 

“ Mopsa took it down, and drew her fingers lightly 
over the strings, when it gave out the sweetest, sweetest 
sounds you ever heard. 

“ She never stopped to think what good the harp might 
be to her, but took it upon her shoulders, just because 
she couldn’t leave it behind. 

“ One other thing she found, leaning up against a rock. 

“ * A broom ! ’ she cried. * I must have you, of course.’ 

“ It was a most wonderful broom, just as the cruse, 
and cord, and harp were most wonderful ; but she knew 
nothing about this at that time. 

“ At nightfall, she came to her cot. 

“ ‘ How delightful ! ’ said Mopsa, admiring everything. 
‘ Now I’ll begin housekeeping in earnest.’ But she was 
too tired to do anything but eat the supper of bread and 
milk set out ready for her, and then go to bed. 

“ She was up early, and the first thing was to run out 
and see where the sun really came from. She thought he 
rolled down into the sea every night, and a new one was 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


"5 


always waiting behind the hills to come up when it was, 
time, and take the old one’s place. On days when there 
wasn’t any sun, she thought something had happened, 
and another one had got to be made. 

“ When the sun came up behind the hills, she was 
rather disappointed. 

“ * I meant to find it all out myself, and then people 
should never have to do without one any more,’ said 
Mopsa. ‘ Maybe I shall learn to make ’em yet.’ 

“ Then she began to plan out the day’s work. 

“ ‘ After breakfast, I’ll sweep up,’ she said ; but just as 
her dishes were put tidily away, she heard jl voice groan- 
ing piteously, and out she ran at once to see what was 
the matter. 

“ It was poor old Gaffer Grigs, who had fallen down 
on the stones in the path, and hurt himself all over, and 
broken his staff. 

“ ‘ It’s lucky it wasn’t your bones,’ said Mopsa, helping 
him up to her cot. She gave him food, made him rest 
upon her bed, and when he was quite recovered ran to 
the wood to cut him a new staff, with which he de- 
parted. 

“ * That shan’t happen again,’ said Mopsa. * First of 
anything. I'll carry away every stone in that path. It’s a 
hard one, any way, and I’ll do what I can to make it easy 
for the travelers who have to pass over it.’ 

“ And she did. But it took her — a year. 

“ ‘ After this is done, I’ll sweep up,’ said Mopsa. ‘Then 
I’ll train the morning glories, and maybe after that there 
will be time for some music, little harp.’ 




ii 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ But still the broom stood still in one corner, and the 
the harp hung silent in another ; for just as the last stone 
was carried away, and all was ready to begin again, 
Mopsa heard a noise like somebody falling. 

“ She ran out, and found poor old Dame Trot fainting 
rv Hh thirst on the threshold. 

-“Water— water — ’ she moaned, too feeble to make 
an exclamation point after it. 

“ ‘ The spring is a mile off,’ cried Mopsa, in despair, 
* What shall I do!’ 

“ She caught up the cruse to run and fetch some, and 
to her surprise found it full. That was the marvel of the 
cruse — once filled, never empty. 

“Dame Trot drank, was refreshed, and went her 
ways. 

“ Mopsa thought, * Now for the broom ! ’ but before 
she had fairly laid hold of the handle a voice sounded in 
her ears, of a child crying wofully. 

“ Off she flew to see what was the matter, and found 
Little Boy Blue sitting on the fence, and keeping up a dis- 
mal wailing. 

“ ‘ Mercy ! what’s happened ? ' cried Mopsa. 

“‘Nothing — but something’s going to ! ’ sniffed Little 
Boy Blue. ‘ My master’ll give me a beating, sure! ’ And 
he howled again at the dreadful prospect. 

“ ‘ What for ? ’ asked Mopsa. ‘ What have you done ?’ 

“ ‘ I was fast asleep under the haystack ’ began 

Little Boy Blue. 

“ ‘ As usual,’ put in Mopsa. 

“ ‘ And one of the lambs I tend ’ 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


II 7 


“ * You pretend to tend, you mean, don’t you? ' 

“ Little Boy Blue blushed, and hung his 'head in con- 
fusion. 

“‘Well, go on. Blue,’ said Mopsa, kindly. 

“ ‘ It strayed ’ 

“ ‘ Of course it did. What can you expect of lambs, if 
you neglect them ? ’ asked Mopsa, severely. 

“ ‘ And it fell down — over the cliff! ’ sobbed Blue. 

“ * Is it dead ? ' cried Mopsa. 

“ ‘ N-n-n-o ! ' it isn’t dead,’ answered Blue, dolefully. 

“ ‘ Why — then go and pick it up, child.' 

“ ‘ Oh, but you see I can’t do that without help.' 

“ ‘ To be sure. But I’m here, aint I ? ’ 

“ She wasn’t, for she was off like an arrow, even while 
she spoke. But she came back quite as quickly, bringing 
her silver cord. She bade Little Boy Blue climb down 
the cliff, and directed him how to fasten the end of the 
cord, which she lowered, about the lamb. 

“ Then she helped him draw the little creature up ; and 
then, she preached him a sermon. 

“ ‘ Little Boy,’ she said, very seriously, ‘you are not in 
earnest about your work. If you were, these things 
would never happen. You shirk, and go to sleep, and 
first you know, your cows are in the corn. It won’t do ! 
You must keep wide awake, if you want to get on in this 
world. I advise you to be in earnest, after this. Or else 
you’ll get a beating. And you’ll deserve it.' 

“ Mopsa wound up her cord, and began to think of her 
own affairs. 

“ ‘ How I do get interrupted — the world is so full of 


n8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


things to do ! Mercy ! when ever shall I get my floor 
swept up, I wonder ! I’ll do it this minute ’ — she started 
to run, ‘unless’ — and she fell into a walk again, ‘this 
minute has some other work than sweeping belonging to 
it.’ 

“ At that moment she came upon a small, young per- 
son, in a tall Normandy cap, who sat upon a tuft of moss 
by the wayside, looking exceedingly prim and dignified, 
but withal a trifle flustered and pale. 

“ ‘ Bless me ! who is this ? ’ exclaimed Mopsa. 

“ ‘ I’m Miss Muffet, my dear,’ explained that gentle- 
woman, ‘and I’ve had a turn.’ 

“ ‘ Have you ? Can I do anything for you ? ’ 

“ ‘ Perhaps you might. The fact is, I have been dread- 
fully scared, by the most horrible wild beast I ever saw. 
I am plunged into that degree of consternation that I am 
really afraid either to stay or go. Could you take me to 
some safe place ? ’ 

“ ‘ Oh, yes ! Come home with me. It’s quite safe 
there ! What sort of beast was it ? ’ 

“ ‘The same,’ said Miss Muffet, shaking her cap in a 
melancholy manner, and lowering her voice to a mournful 
key, ‘ the same which caused the death of my beloved and 
lamented friend, General Thomas Thumb.' 

“ ‘ Indeed ! ’ Mopsa didn’t know what else to say, and 
so, like most persons in that plight, who are too well 
bred to answer, ‘Ye-es?' she looked sorry, and said, 
‘ Indeed ! ’ 

“‘Yes, indeed, my dear!’ ejaculated Miss Muffet, 
shuddering all over. ‘ A Spider ! ’ 


ON BRIAR HILL. 119 


“ When the two arrived at Mopsa's cot, Miss Muffet 
was so exhausted, what with fright and melancholy re- 
membrances, she was obliged to remove her Normandy 
cap, and lie down on Mopsa’s bed. 

“ ‘ Of course I can’t sweep while she’s here ; it would 
not be polite,’ thought Mopsa. ‘But I can’t sit and fold 
my hands. What shall I do ? I wonder if she is fond 
of music ! ’ 

“ Before she could ask, Miss Muffet had spied the harp 
hanging on the wall, and begged her to play. 

“ Without a word, Mopsa took the harp on her knee, 
and drew her fingers over the golden strings. As the 
sweetest, sweetest sounds awoke, she watched Miss Muf- 
fet ’s pale and melancholy countenance, and saw, to her 
delight, all the tears and gloom in it fade away into rap- 
ture. 

“ ‘ Beautiful ! be-au-tiful ! ’ said Miss Muffet. ‘ That is 
a wonderful harp ! It has power to soothe aches and 
heal wounds. I’ve traveled the world over, and listened 
in my time to some thousands of musical instruments, 
from a penny trumpet to a Chinese tom-tom, but never 
before to a harp like that. ‘ Twanky dum te dee' hum- 
med Miss Muffet. ‘ Ah ! delicious ! ecstatic ! It has 
quite cured me. I think I’ll go now, my dear; and ex- 
tremely obliged for your hospitality, I am sure.’ 

"With a magnificently gracious courtesy, having re- 
sumed her tall head-dress, Miss Muffet took her stately 
departure, and was lost in the gathering shades of night. 

“ When Mopsa awoke the next morning, she found the 
old trouble had befallen the sun. 


120 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“For some reason it wasn’t up to time; indeed, it 
wasn’t up at all, and the whole world was gloomy with 
shadows. 

“ * I really must see to this matter some time. The 
world can’t go on without sunshine ! ’ said Mopsa to her- 
self. ‘But now I’ll sweep. I shan’t be likely to be inter- 
rupted by company on such a day.’ 

“ She seized the broom, and began to flourish it about 
vigorously. A most extraordinary thing happened. You 
know that every corner of the room, as well as all the 
rest of the world, was full of black shadows. Well, the 
moment Mopsa began to sweep, the shadows began to 
depart ; she swept them all out of the house, as if they 
had been dust. 

“ At first she was exceedingly astonished. But when 
she examined into the matter, she found that her broom 
was made all of sunbeams. So you see it wasn’t any 
miracle, after all. It is the natural work of the sunshine, 
you know, to brush away the shadows. 

“ ‘ Oh, ho ! ’ cried Mopsa, admiringly. ‘Well, if I ever !’ 
She leaned on her broom-handle, and mused a little space. 
The subject of her reflections was chiefly wonderment 
that everybody did not keep a broom of that sort, it was 
so handy, and beside, it wouldn’t matter whether the sun 
shone or not, with such a thing in the house. 

“Then she fell to work sweeping her threshold, her 
doorstep, the path outside, and on and on she went, down 
into the very valley, the shadows flying before her. 

“ When she came back at nightfall, she gave one part- 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


1 2 1 


ing flourish in the room with her broom, set it in the cor- 
ner, herself on a stool, and said : 

“ * I’m tired ! ’ 

“ ‘ Are you ! ' answered the fairy godmother, appearing 
suddenly, from nobody knew where. ‘ Then it’s time to 
rest.’ 

“‘I don’t want to sit still, godmamma. But I should 
like now to see the world ; to be in the midst of things.’ 

“ ‘ I don’t mean you to stop work, but to change it. 
That is the right sort of rest for you, Mopsa/ 

“ ‘ Thank you, ma’am. I think it is,’ said Mopsa. 

“ The old lady thumped with her crutch on a curious, 
heart-shaped trap-door in the floor, which Mopsa had 
never noticed, probably because of the dust she could 
never get time to sweep out. 

“ Wide open flew the trap, and down into it jumped 
the godmother, simply saying : 

“ * Follow me.’ 

“ Mopsa ran to it, and looking in, saw a deep, deep 
hole, like a well, with myriads of bright, changing things, 
that she could not make out, at the bottom. 

“ * Where ? ' she asked, all in perplexity ; for there re- 
ally didn’t seem to be any place to ‘ follow ’ upon. 

“ * Into the midst of things,’ answered the voice of the 
vanished fairy. 

“ Mopsa bound the little harp upon her shoulder, hu g 
the stone cruse to her girdle, and took the broom of sun- 
beams in her hand. 

“ * All these things I shall be sure to need there,’ she 
said. 


122 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ These preparations for travel completed, she lowered 
herself and her luggage into the well, by means of the 
endless twine of silver cord. 

“ She never came back to her little cot again, because 
she never had time for it, what with the calls she had to 
give drink to the thirsty out of her never empty cruse, to 
play to the heartsick and weary on her harp, and between 
whiles to sweep out the shadows with her broom of sun- 
beams, and do all the helpful things she was always turn- 
ing her hand to, In the Midst of Things ” 


XI. 

A. u n t Pen. 

How long the days seemed, and how heavily the hours 
wore on, in the week that followed. 

Each morning Gwin began the day with resolving to 
find so much for her hands to do that work would leave 
her no leisure to count the leaden-footed minutes, or 
worry about the to-morrows which had once more risen 
with menacing faces in the shadowy future. 

There was always plenty to be done, and she did it 
“after a fashion,” but her thoughts were like little Bo 
Peep's truant flock, and they wandered over the hills and 
far away, giving her the greatest trouble to gather them 
them together and reduce them to order again. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


123 


The girls knew that a great change was coming upon 
their lives, and to Gwin’s inexperience it seemed full of 
- untold dread ; all she could do was to order herself not 
to think of it, and reprimand herself when she uncon- 
sciously disobeyed orders. 

“ I am getting to be so Mrs. Gummidge-y ! ” she com- 
plained to Percy. “ I really must turn over a new leaf, - 
or things will be going so contrairy-wise with me there’ll 
be no bearing it ! How was it I used to stretch my 
wings, my better portion trace ? Do you remember ? Or 
is it quite a lost art ? ” 

“ I never thoroughly knew the secret. It was my part 
to admire the effect,” answered Percy. 

“ Oh, fie ! dear Percy ; you had a better secret than 
mine, for yours has never failed yet. Never,” said Gwin, 
“since that night when the year came in with so much 
bluster, and all was so dark before us we hadn’t the cour- 
age to look it fairly in the face.” 

“ I suppose I was old enough to know that even when 
the days seem so hopelessly alike in passing, little by 
little they bring changes ; and I did not see why those 
changes should not as well be for the better as for the 
worse.” 

Gwin looked up brightly, and nodded approval of that 
sentiment. 

“ I was hunting around for something of that sort, 
these three days,” she said. 

“ What, you, Gwin ! You surprise me. You had a 
trick, not longer ago than three days, of counting up the 
blessings, that was very cheerful,” 


124 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Had I ? Then I think I had better begin to count 
them again, or I shall turn out very dismal. Come to re- 
flect upon it, it wasn’t such a foolish proceeding, either ; 
was it, now ? Only think of where we stood, shivering 
on the brink, not much more than two months ago, with 
such low-down horrors — real pauper misfortunes — staring 
us in the face, as ought not to visit themselves on well- 
conditioned people. And no little postern door of escape 
from our beleagured castle, that we could see, though the 
very battlements were tumbling about our ears. Yet 
here already, just through one or two of the quietest little 
happenings, we are ‘ rather comfortable again, consider- 
ing.’ ” , 

“What are you considering, Gwin ? ” asked Betty, who 
at that moment came in, fresh and bright, from her gar- 
den walk. 

“ Blessings. Taking account of stock.” 

“ Present, or to come ? ” 

“ Why, I had not thought of the latter. But wouldn’t 
it be a good plan to add them up too — the probable 
ones? ” 

“ I would not advise you to do that,” said Betty. “You 
would be certain to grow puffed up over your good for- 
tune, and it would be the story of the milkmaid, who 
counted her chickens before they were hatched, over 
again.” 

“ I should not have told the story that way,” said Gwin. 
“ If I had made it, I should have said : The milkmaid, 
being a very sensible young woman, made her hay while 
the sun shone. It is true that she met with an accident, 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


I2 5 


and spilt her milk, but if she had thought of nothing at 
all, that might have happened all the same, and then she 
would not have had any gratification out of her morning 
work. I believe it is the j oiliest way to count our chick- 
ens as often as possible, and then if they never hatch, we 
have had half the pleasure of them — the anticipation, 
you know.” 

“ How long do you think, Gwin, you could live on a 
dinner that way — never tasting, but just anticipating?” 
asked Betty. 

Gwin laughed, and shook her curls at her sister in 
merry defiance. 

“ As long as it would take me to travel through the 
long lane,” she stoutly declared. 

“ A long journey,” Betty answered, thoughtfully. “We 
have been a weary while going through the long lane.” 

“Yes, we have,” said Persis. “But what of that, so 
long as we know surely that the longest has a turn at 
last?” 

“My dear, I would not care very much, if I could be 
as sure that the turn would bring us out into the pleasant 
country again.” 

“ Well, even the long lane has its pleasant side, for you 
can keep going on in it, unless you prefer to stand still,” 
said Gwin, who strictly refrained from ever making Betty 
the confidante of her “here we go down-y” moods. 
“ And not exactly knowing where it leads, excites one’s 
curiosity and keeps one * moving on.’ ” 

Betty smiled, as she answered : 

“ We won’t stand still so long as we can help it, Gwin. 


126 


THE OLD HOUSE 


That is one of the best things I have laid hold on as yet, 
and it gives me an immense amount of satisfaction at 
times. No matter how homely, humble, humdrum, a per- 
son’s life may be, he can live on, out of it. The path may- 
be narrow, mother says, but the heavens are wide. I 
wonder if the people who live in the little red houses, in 
the out-of-the-way streets, and do seamstressing, and 
tailoring, and cobble-work for a living, know about it, 
and avail themselves of the privilege.” 

“ I never heard,” answered Gwin. “ But if they don’t 
they must be deaf and blind.” 

“Why?” 

“ Because the lark knows, and preaches it to them ev- 
ery morning, until he takes his winter vacation.” 

“ One has to learn so many languages to get on in this 
world ! ” exclaimed Betty. “ I have not got beyond the 
language of the briars, myself; and I doubt if the people 
in the little red houses have.” 

“ Oh ! you should not judge them by the size and color 
of their abodes, Betty.” 

“ I don’t, my dear. I judge because they are workers, 
and must be intimate with the briars of which the work- 
ing-day world is full, as you often say.” 

“Never mind,” said Gwin. “Even the briars have 
blossoms, and though you may not admire them, the 
bees and the goldfinches are particularly fond of them.” 

“ How you do run on ! Ever so many minutes ago I 
was meaning to tell you that I have got something in my 
pocket which was once white, is now black, and is wait- 
ing to be read.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


127 


“ A letter ! ” Gwin exclaimed. “ Come, Betty ” 

“Will you have it now, or — anticipate a little? ” 

“ Is it from Olympia, or aunt Theo ? ” 

“ Is it postmarked Florence, or Munich ? ” 

“Neither,” Betty answered, regretfully. “It is only 
from aunt Pen, in Cornish.” 

The girls could not help showing their disappointment 
in their faces. 

“ It would be so good to hear from auntie Theo just 
now,” said Gwin. “And it is time, too.” 

“ Poor aunt Pen,” added Persis. “ We ought not to be 
so ungrateful. It is a great labor for her to write ! ’ 

“ I should think so, with such stiff, scratchy quills as she 
uses. And such old-fashioned, prim sentences, as if all the 
words were in tight stays and high heels. I always feel 
as if the spelling ought to be like Chaucer’s to be in keep- 
ing,” criticised Gwin. “ What does she write? How is 
aunt Sylvia? ” 

“ It made aunt Sylvia worse to hear about father ; but 
as soon as it is prudent to leave her in Hester’s care, aunt 
Pen is coming to us.” 

“That is kind. I was thinking, only this morning,” 
said Percy, “ how sad it is, that of the few near relatives 
we have, the dearest, whom we would best like with us 
now, are half a world away.” 

But Gwin sighed a little over the prospect of aunt Pen’s 
coming, having a lively remembrance of her visitations in 
the old times, when that lady had thought it a duty to in- 
struct her frolicsome great-niece in the manners befitting 
a Demoiselle North ; in which course of straight-laced 


12 8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


and high-heeled airs and graces poor Gwin had won any- 
thing but honors. 

That same evening, while Mrs. Denham was in the 
kitchen, making a wine posset, she asked Gwin rather 
suddenly : 

“ Could your brother spare an hour or so before tea, to 
go an errand for me, do you think? I guess I’d better 
send home for Rhody to come right along down and stop 
here a spell. There’s going to be more than I can tend 
to myself, very well. Beside, I calculate your mother 
may want to keep her along for a week or so after I’m 
gone." 

“ Have you got to leave us, Mrs. Denham ? " Gwin’s 
voice betrayed her dismay at the thought. 

“ Wal, no ; not jest this minnit," replied Mrs. Denham, 
humorously ; “ I’m a calculatin’ to stay here as long as 
I’m needed ! ” 

“ Oh ! ’’ said Gwin ; and she understood that the nurse 
did not anticipate that her services would be much longer 
required there. 

Of course Roy could spare an hour. He was at once 
dispatched to the outlying village, on the flats known as 
Moose Meadows, where, Mrs. Denham said, with a 
chuckle, she “lived when ” she was “ to home.” In one 
of those identical little red houses, about whose inmates 
Betty sometimes wondered, finding it hard to think that 
their lives might have much the same hopes, sorrows and 
aims as hers, he found Rhoda, who was soon ready to 
accompany him home, having already packed the small 
hair trunk with which she was accustomed to travel, 




\ 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


I29 


when summoned by her mother to give extra service in 
the houses where she “ nursed.” 

Gwin was waiting to receive her, to install her in her 
room, and to show her the closets and pantries over 
which she was to preside. 

Rhoda looked around, taking in everything with quick 
glances of her bright, black eyes, and accompanying her 
answers with brisk little nods and smiles, that were very 
reassuring, for already Gwin had been recalling aunt 
Pen’s particular ways, and wondering what would happen 
if Rhoda should not suit her. 

When the survey was ended, Rhoda tied on an apron 
over her neat gingham dress, and in that act seemed to 
take possession. 

“ I guess I’ll get tea the first thing,” she remarked, 
glancing at the clock, and then taking off the cover of 
the tea-kettle and looking into it. “Do you like to have 
your tea made strong, or only middlin’ ? ” 

“ I really don’t know. Not very strong, I should think. 
I always go by the rule, a teaspoonful for every cup, and 
one for the teapot.” 

“ I can guess at it,” said Rhoda, with easy confidence 
in herself. “ Now don’t bother yourself about anything, 
for I know just where everything is, and I shall get along 
real handy here, I’m certain. You see, a new place 
doesn’t fluster me a bit. I’m so used to changing about, 
I never have time to get accustomed to closet doors open- 
ing in, and so I don’t get turned round when they open 
out. 

“ It would be such a rest, if it wasn’t for aunt Pen com- 


i3° 


THE OLD HOUSE 


ing,” Gwin told Percy. “ Rhoda isn’t the kind of person 
it would do for fier to find fault with.” 

Aunt Pen arrived that very evening ; a small, old lady, 
with a stately air that made her seem several inches 
taller. She brought with her, as was her invariable cus- 
tom when she went on the shortest journey, an old-fash- 
ioned, silver-inlaid dressing-box, a small medicine chest, 
a reticule, and a little portmanteau, about which she was 
very anxious until she beheld them all safely deposited in 
the hall. Relieved from these cares, she entered the par- 
lor, embraced the different members of the family with a 
warmth and dignity curiously blended, and ended by 
breaking down altogether. 

“ Poor afflicted children ! ” was all that she was able 
to say, and then she went off into one of her quiet, low- 
spirited “ cries,” sitting in the straightest-backed chair in 
the room, and alternately applying her silver vinaigrette 
to her nose, and her handkerchief of dainty lawn to her 
eyes. 

Gwin assisted Rhoda in preparing the delicate supper 
that would be in accordance with her fastidious taste, 
being much moved by poor aunt Pen’s emotion, but she 
could only shake her head, and say : 

“Thank you, child. It is very kind — but I’ve no 
appetite.” 

Then she would sigh, and murmur, “ Poor Sylvia ! 
poor Sylvia ! ” until Gwin’s heart was so touched she 
could not forbear creeping up and softly printing a kiss 
on the withered cheek. 

Very soon aunt Pen went away with Mrs. -North to the 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


I 3 I 


father’s room, and when, after a long absence, she re- 
turned to the parlor, she was very dejected. 

A small fire blazed on the hearth, and before this aunt 
Pen took her seat, saying little, but now and then wiping 
away a tear that slowly trickled down her cheek. Once 
she said : 

“ It is seldom that I am so overcome ! Children, you 
do not know what it is to see one after another of those 
you have loved depart, till hardly one is left. To-morrow 
I shall be myself again.” 

In a few hours, Mrs. Denham’s reasons for sending for 
Rhoda were made plain. 

There was a brief, silent parting ; soft kisses mingled 
with soft tears ; and the journey was ended. 

* * * * * * * 

Persis could not be left alone, so it was settled by aunt 
Pen that Gwin should stay at home with her. 

“ Aunt Pen is herself again,” said Gwin. “ I like her 
a good deal better the other way.” 

“I have no complaints to make,” said Persis. “ Indeed 
I owe her much thanks, for she might have ordained that 
you should go-, too.” 

“ How strange it is that I can’t love her long at a time. 
She is so good, and so tender and devoted to poor aunt 
Sylvia. But I never had such trouble in feeling grateful 
to anybody in my life ! ” exclaimed Gwin. 

“ Why, my dear ! what has happened ? You have been 
so attentive, so thoughtful of all her wants and ways, I 
should never have suspected you were being ungrateful 
all the time.” 


I 3 2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Oh, but Percy, you don't know ! Let me tell you ! 
What do you think she proposes ? I am glad she said I 
was to stay behind, for I want to talk it all over with you. 
It has made me so — miserable ! ” 

“Dear little girl — darling — don’t give way now — you 
who have been brave so long,” said Percy soothingly. 
“ There ; tell me all about it.” 

Gwin who had dropped her head on her knees, looked 
up, smiling through her tears. 

“ I did not mean to break down, Percy. You mustn’t 
mind that, either ; only tell me what I ought to do. Of 
course aunt Pen has found out all our troubles, and of 
course she means to help us, only her way out of the 
wood isn’t always the pleasant one. She had me up in 
her room this morning, and I’m — I’m — to have the honor 
of going home to live with her and aunt Sylvia. She told 
me so. Do you think I ought to go ? Remember, things 
will be different now, and we must do everything to help 
Roy.” 

“ Nonsense ! You dear little girl, do you suppose we 
would let you go ? As for Roy, he won’t entertain aunt 
Pen’s plan for a moment. We can’t do without you,” 
said Percy, positively. So that is settled.” 

“ I declare ! ” cried Gwin. “ If that isn’t aunt Pen to 
the very life ! Of course, I am bound to do as you say.” 

It was a day of gray clouds and slow-falling rain, but 
from the moment Percy had rendered her decision it 
seemed no longer dull and forlorn to Gwin, although they 
sat very quiet and silent. 

She had seen some sorry times, but nothing seemed 


ON BRIAR HILL, 


J 33 


quite so miserable to her as that parting from all her 
dearest to go and live in aunt Pen’s nice, comfortable 
home, with her and the poor invalid sister whom she 
cared for so devotedly ; a change which Gwin had looked 
upon as “settled” aunt Pen’s way, because she thought 
it her duty to go, until dear Percy decided it was her duty 
to stay. 

Rhoda, “ looking as cheerful and agreeable as a crim- 
son hollyhock,” presently brought their lunch on a little 
tray to Percy’s sofa, sure that Gwin would like it better so 
than later, with aunt Pen and the others in the dining- 
room. Her quick eyes had already noticed that aunt 
Pen’s presence had the effect of clouding over Gwin’s 
brightness, and Rhoda naturally objected to it. 

Soon after, the sound of wheels was heard on the drive. 
Betty and the mother came in, wet from the rain ; aunt 
Pen, taking possession of Gwin with an air of so-hence- 
forth-is-it-to-be that made Betty, who did not know her 
plans, open her eyes, went to her room to remove her 
damp wrappings ; Rose had to have her boots and stock- 
ings changed ; and the world began to go on again in 
the old fashior 



*34 


THE OLD HOUSE 


XII 

Grapes of Eschol. 

The next morning, after breakfast, Betty, finding her- 
self nervously restless, and quite unable to sit in quiet 
state with aunt Pen in the parlor, arrayed herself in her 
blouse and bib, and came down to help Gwin with the 
daily morning work. 

Aunt Pen, meeting her in the passage, expressed a dig- 
nified disapproval of that line of conduct, which she con- 
sidered unbefitting any young lady who had the honor to 
belong to the North family. 

“ I should expect nothing better of Winifred,” she said, 
manifesting her displeasure as usual by giving the girls 
the full benefit of their names. “ But I never supposed 
thatj you would fall’ into her ways, Elizabeth. I have not 
been accustomed to see the ladies of the North family 
doing servants’ work.” 

“ It isn’t a question of choice, aunt Pen,” Betty pleas- 
antly answered. “ There is so much to be done in this 
great house, we have to help Rhoda a little.” 

Aunt Pen made no reply, but raised her gold eyeglass- 
es, and turned to contemplate the portraits of a certain 
Madam Betty and Madam Winifred that adorned the 
walls. She took great pleasure in their high-bred beauty, 
and with a sigh reflected that “ those girls ” were not be- 
ing brought up as their stately ancestresses had been. 

“ Gwin, especially, is far from being what one could 
wish,” thought Miss Penelope with much regret. “ But 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


J 35 


it may not be too late yet to form her manners. We 
could ha vz preferred having Betty with us, but Sylvia is 
right ; we owe a duty towards our family, and perform it, 
in taking Gwin.” 

Betty found Gwin like a priestess of Vesta, with a row 
of untrimmed lamps before her, the oil can and scissors 
at hand. 

“What are you going to do, Betty? ” she asked, paus- 
ing in her chimney polishing to survey her sister’s unu- 
sual attire. 

“ It is a question. I think I am going to do my duty, 
but aunt Pen thinks I am about to disgrace myself ; who 
shall decide ? She Jooked at me as if she felt like ex- 
claiming, How art thou fallen ! Which rather took me 
down, as I was flattering myself that I was really on the 
up-hill road, at last. Come, Gwin, please make room for 
me. I am going to take care of the lamps myself.” 

“ Not a bit of it ! ” pronounced Gwin, decidedly. “One 
of us girls ought to keep nice, lady hands, to preserve in 
the family, like all the. other aristocratic traditions. I 
won’t have you do it. If we should ever have any more 
grand company to entertain, you can go forward and 
shake hands as the eldest Miss North’s proxy, white Rose 
and I can make our curtesies in the background, and no 
one need ever know that ours are not just as beautiful. 
Oh, no, don’t think of such a thing, Betty dear ! " 

“ Gwin ! ” cried Betty, reproachfully. “ Do you know 
how you make me feel, when you talk in that strain ? As 
if I could be so mean ! But I don’t wonder ; you have 
reason to think so. I have acted abominably ” 


i3<5 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ No, indeed, you havn’t,” said Gwin, hotly. 

“ Well, then, show that you don’t think so, by letting 
me have my own way in this, dear. I know it isn’t a bad 
way, because I am copying from yours. Give me the 
lamps, brooms and dust-brushes, and help me in the way 
I should go. Aunt Pen is stumbling-block enough. And 
you and Rhoda can’t do everything.” 

Gwin yielded up the broom reluctantly. 

“Sweeping callouses the palms dreadfully,” she ob- 
jected, with an admiring look at Betty’s beautiful, deli- 
cate hands. 

“ Not worse than guitar-playing does the finger-e ds. 
Ah ! Gwin, you need not think you can frighten me out 
of it so. I have lived in this atmosphere long enough to 
be able to put away vanities — spasmodically. Y ou should 
remember — as I do — the beautiful verse you were glori- 
fying your work with, only the ojher day : — 

“ 4 A servant with this clause 
Makes drudgery divine ; — 

Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws. 

Makes that and the action fine.’ 

Moreover, I am in love with brooms, since you manufac- 
tured Mopsa’s.” 

Betty worked with a feverish energy, sweeping and 
dusting, and setting things to rights that had got all to 
wrongs in the last few days. When she had made the 
rooms look habitable once more, and quite tired herself 
out in doing so, for Betty was over-nice in her fastidious- 
ness, and gave herself unnecessary pains, she dusted and 
dis-bibbed herself, and went down prepared to sit in state, 
and submit to aunt Pen’s authority. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


137 


She found her mother sitting near Persis, looking pale 
and worn, her head resting against the cushioned back 
of her chair, and her eyes closed ; Gwin at the window, 
looking like patience on a monument ; while aunt Pen, 
bolt upright in the comfortless Elizabethan-backed chair, 
rehearsed her old, old stories of how Madame Winifred 
was sent abroad to be educated, as was the custom of 
the “ families of rank ” in old colonial times, and how 
Mistress Betty was presented at court, and her beauty 
complimented by a prince of the blood. Rose in the cor- 
ner, supremely indifferent to the magnificence of her 
great-great-grandaunts, was very busy fashioning a 
mourning bonnet out of a scrap of black crape for her 
daughter, who sat bolt upright also, a funny small copy 
of aunt Pen, and stared straight before her, with a 
blank, unsympathizing expression on her placid, blonde 
face. 

Gwin greeted her sister’s entrance with a brightening 
look of relief, for Betty was a good listener, and never 
tired of those old stories ; aunt Pen met her with a gra- 
cious look, approving of her graceful, quiet carriage, and 
motioning her with a small, fair hand to a seat on the 
tabouret near by. 

“ I am glad you are come, my love,” she began. “Now 
we are all together, I have something to say to you.” 

Gwin started, and turned an appealing glance towards 
Persis, who smiled back at her in a way that as good as 
said, Never fear ; it will turn out all right. 

“ I have spent some time with Roy this morning,” pro- 
ceeded aunt Pen ; “and although we did not go into the 


r 3 8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


details, I gathered enough to be very certain that the 
strictest retrenchment in the matter of expenditures will 
be imperative, at least for a year or two.” 

Gwin thought of the “last oat,” and pulled an express- 
ive face, which she “ delivered ” to the leafless laburnums 
outside the window. 

As aunt Pen went on with her elaborate sentences so 
kindly meant but so cruel in effect, she pictured to her- 
self the home which was offered to her ; the odd, old- 
fashioned house, full of furniture far more antique than 
its elderly mistresses, with their fashions and ways of a 
bygone and forgotten time. She knew it well, for she had 
made a memorable visit there in the Go th-and- Vandal 
time of her infancy, and retained lively recollections of 
the disgrace she had incurred by doing aunt Sylvia’s 
poodle up in curl-papers, and teasing aunt Pen’s lemon- 
crested cockatoo, in lighting herself to bed with a tall, 
silver candlestick that had performed that service for the 
Marquis de Lafayette, and in breaking a tall punch tum- 
bler out of which General Washington had once quaffed 
a health to the mistress of the house, who was his host- 
ess. It would not seem like living to go there and spend 
one’s days in looking over old yellow laces, listening to 
old, -musty stories, and stifling in an ancient atmosphere, 
scented with dried rose-leaves and lavender. 

“ O, aunt Pen,” said Betty quietly, though much aston- 
ished, “you are very kind — but we cannot let Gwin go. 
It is one of our consolations in all this trouble that we 
are spared to each other.” 

“ You feel so, naturally,” aunt Pen serenely responded. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


m 


\ 


“We don’t expect young eyes to look into the future. 
What does Percy say ? ” 

“ Very much what Betty does, aunt Pen. You are very 
kind, and I am very selfish. Gwin has spoiled me so, I 
have not the courage to spare her.” 

“Foolish, short-sighted children ! You should think a 
little of what it would be to Gwin ? Now let your mother 
speak.” 

“ I might be no wiser than they, aunt Pen,” said the 
mother, smiling tenderly at her little, anxious-eyed girl. 
“We are like the sheaf of fagots, strong only when 
bound together. But, as you say, Roy is the head of the 
house, and Gwin’s personal interests are concerned, so 
they shall decide the question themselves.” 

“Very wisely settled, Rosamund,” said aunt Pen with 
an air of victory, as if triumph had perched on her ban- 
ners. “Well, Gwin, it rests with you. We wait your 
answer.” 

Gwin had turned her face, wofully white, towards the 
laburnums, when aunt Pen in her oration laid emphatic 
stress upon the heavy burdens that had fallen upon Roy. 
A long pause followed, while she was desperately gath- 
ering courage to decide that she would do the grim thing 
which was duty, after all. In low, muffled tones the 
words came at last : 

“ I will go — aunt Pen, thank you— if Roy is willing.” 

Rose, who had been an amazed listener to all this talk, 
watching Gwin, who sat “as white as anything,” with 
her cheek against the window-pane, frightened, but not 
daring to rebel in the presence of aunt Pen, crept from 


140 


THE OLD HOUSE 


the room and ran to cry out her trouble on Roy’s shoul- 
der, and sob her grief into his ear. 

“ You won’t be ‘willing,’ will you, Roy ? ” she pleaded, 
clinging to him. “ You won’t let aunt Pen carry off my 
Gwin? ” 

“ No, no, no ! ” said Roy, cheerily. “ We will go and 
rescue her this minute.” 

Before aunt Pen had completed the congratulatory sen- 
tence with which she received Gwin’s promise, the “ res- 
cue ” entered. 

“ It doesn’t matter what Gwin has promised,” Roy de- 
cided. “ She has some foolish notion of making it easier 
for me — I know her ! Such a monstrous idea, isn’t it, 
aunt Pen ? And think of Percy ! It is as if somebody 
should ask you to go and live away from aunt Sylvia. 
She would have more money to spend, but she would 
lose something far better than money — which no money 
could buy. 

That appeal touched aunt Pen, and she said no more ; 
at this, the girls showed her so much affectionate grati- 
tude that she was kind enough not to be offended at their 
rejection of her offer, though she thought it a great 
pity. 

After lunch, Roy, having finished the task of looking 
over his father’s desk, brought in a paper on which he 
had written out a statement of affairs for his mother. 

Aunt Pen was deeply shocked to find the property so 
melted away, and bitterly observed that Rosamund would 
find her task as executrix exceedingly light. 

“ I was prepared for this,” said Mrs. North, patiently. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


I 4 I 


“There were investments of one kind and another, 
that promised wealth and meant ruin,” added Roy. 

“ Ruin ! ” repeated aunt Pen. “ You shock me. You 
can’t mean what you say, I think, Roy.” 

“ I mean the ruin of a fine fortune, aunt Pen. We 
have this place left us, with about nothing a year to keep 
it up on.” 

“Is there nothing but this place?” Mrs. North 
asked. 

“ There is a small amount of bank stock in your name, 
mother, that brings in about three hundred a year, and 
that worthless property on Briar Hill, that nobody would 
take as a gift, I suppose. That is all.” 

“ This place must be rather valuable, I should think,” 
mused Mrs. North. 

“ The location is excellent ; the house and grounds in 
pretty good order,” said Roy. “Yes, it ought to be worth 
a good deal.” 

“ I see that we must make up our minds to move, and 
sell,” continued Mrs. North. 

“ O, mother ! ” burst from Betty’s quivering lips. 

“ Do you think the Briar Hill place would bring any- 
thing ? ” , 

“ I don’t believe it would, mother. The soil is poor for 
farming, and no one likes it, because it is perched high 
up on the hill, out of the way, and hard to get at.” 

“ What sort of a place is it, Roy ? ” Gwin asked, rather 
fancying the description, the high-perched situation, and 
the out-of-the-way-ness of it. 

“ It has four or five acres of hill-pasture, and woods, 


142 


THE OLD HOUSE 


and there is some sort of a house, with a garden and 
orchard.” 

“ A house ! ” repeated Mrs. North, thoughtfully. 
“Well, it is plain, then, what we must do next.” 

“O, mother!” cried Betty again, “You don’t mean 
that we must leave this dear old home, where we were all 
. born — that has always been a home to us ? ” 

“My dear, necessity means it. It will be impossible for 
us to stay here. But even if we must give up the old 
home, nothing need prevent us from making a new one, 
somewhere, that shall be as dear.” 

“ Are we going to be very much poorer, do you think, 
mother ? Will there be enough to live on ? ” 

“ I can’t tell yet, Gwin. It depends upon how this 
place sells.” 

“But are you worried, mother, about the future?” 

“ No ; not worried. I am only perplexed as to what is 
best for us to do.” 

“How can you doubt, Rosamund?” said aunt Pen. 
“You will have to go and live in the house on Briar 
Hill.” 

Gwin pinched Betty’s arm, and whispered in her 
ear: 

“ More briars for you ! ” 

This, after the week’s excitement, was more than poor 
Betty could bear up against. When Roy, accepting aunt 
Pen’s decision, rose, saying he would go over and consult 
Professor Yorke, perhaps ride up to Briar Hill that very 
afternoon, and see what condition things were in there, 
Betty hid her face and burst into a passion of sobs and 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


H3 


tears. For Roy to take it so, made everything seem hope- 
lessly settled. 

“ Poor child ! ” said the mother. “ You are quite worn 
out and broken down with all you have gone through. 
She needs rest and sleep, doesn’t she, aunt Pen? ” 

Miss Penelope examined her scarlet-flushed cheeks, felt 
of her burning hands, and promptly decided that she 
was really ill. Betty submitted to being taken away to 
her room and undressed by her mother, just as when she 
was a little child. Mrs. North tenderly smoothed her pil- 
low, darkened the room, and was going quietly away, 
when aunt Pen entered with a little medicine-glass, con- 
taining orange-flower water from her own chest, which 
Betty obediently drank, secretly grateful that it was not 
valerian. 

Persis, whom they had feared would feel the change the 
most keenly, cared but little- about it. 

“ It is you and Roy who make my home,” she said ; 
“ and, for the rest, I confess I do sometimes get so tired 
of the same view out of the window, — the same crinkly 
paper on the wall.” 

Gwin blithely announced that she felt quite sure she 
was going to like it. 

“ I think it is good to travel ; it enlarges one’s views. 
And now that we know everything here by heart, we 
should get to be old-fogy ish if we did not move about and 
study life. We shall see a deal of the world, perched 
aloft up there, and we can have the satisfaction of living 
above it, too.” 

It was delightful, after Betty’s breaking down so, to 


i 4 4 


THE OLD HOUSE 


have Gwin taking such cheerful views. As she went on 
talking and planning, insensibly her mother and Percy 
brightened up, and added a wish or a suggestion, until 
they grew to feel a lively interest in the house they had 
had never seen. 

Aunt Pen felt more as Betty did, it being a great 
blow to her to have the old North mansion pass into 
other hands. 

It was after nightfall when Gwin, laden with a tray 
and a lighted candle, entered Betty’s room. 

“ Mother wouldn’t let you be called, so I have brought 
you your tea.” 

Betty sat up against her pillows making a lovely picture, 
as Gwin admiringly thought, with her dark hair tumbling 
in loose, heavy curls, down over her pretty frilled night- 
wrapper, her large eyes lustrous, and her cheeks flushed 
with sleep. 

“ I don’t deserve that anybody should be so good to 
me,” she said piteously, glancing from the tray up to 
Gwin. Her supper was as daintily laid with rich damask, 
and thin, delicate china, as even aunt Pen could have 
desired ; and beside the plate lay a cluster of crocuses, 
purple, white, and golden. Betty lifted them with tender 
touches, held them to her hot cheeks, and said, as a tear 
gathered and slowly rolled over her lashes : 

“ I shall never watch for you to push up your pretty 
buds, — never gather you in the dear, old garden, again !” 

“ Why, you see Betty dear, these did not grow there, 
either. Roy brought a handful home to Percy from the 
garden on Briar Hill, and she selected the freshest to 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


H5 


send to you. She says you must take them for grapes of 
Eschol.” 

“ Then Roy has got back ? " 

“ Yes. He came just in time for tea." 

“ Well, Gwin, what does he say about it ? You need 
not be afraid ; I am not going to be so foolish any more. 
Tell fine, what is our — our new home like ? " 

Gwin perched herself comfortably on the foot of the 
bed and responded to Betty’s invitation with enthusi- 
asm. 

“ I should think it must be, in some respects, the place 
above all others — it is high up enough to be ! — a sort of 
spot where artists go to spend summer holidays, and 
poets lie on the grass all day long, and think rhymes. It 
sounds like the description of a picture, or a poem, any 
how. You can see all the sun-risings and sunsets from 
there, long after it is all gray with twilight down here ; 
and there are ‘ views ’ too numerous to mention and too 
beautiful to describe. But before I repeat what Roy said, 
let me just tell you one of Percy’s memories about it. 
She was not there precisely, you know, but passed by it. 
She would have had her eyes about her, if she had guessed 
we should be living there some day. We were talking 
it over while Roy was gone, and she happened to remem- 
ber going up that very hill once, on a picnic. The road 
ran through half-mile bits of cool, dark pine woods, and 
then out in sunny curves where the banks and the brown 
fences were all overgrown with blackberry vines, and 
wild roses in blossom ; and up on the crest of the hills 
there were lovely glimpses of the green vallev meadows 


146 


THE OLD HOUSE 


/ 


and flats with the river winding through them and glitter- 
ing in the sun.” 

“ Shall we go * home ’ by paths so beautiful ? ” 

«• Yes, the path will be beautiful, — and the ‘ home ’ will 
be, as Percy says, “ home because mother and all of you 
will be there.” ” 


XIII. 

Friends and Friends. 

Roy set forth, buttoning his overcoat closely up to his 
chin, for the air was yet raw and chill, unsoftened by the 
influence of the pale sunshine that fitfully struggled 
against the drifting masses of gray, storm-threatening 
clouds. 

His face, grave and full of care, was like the sky, and 
his smile like the faint, fitful sunshine, Gwin thought, as 
he came past the clump of laburnums, glanced up at the 
window, and answered her gesture with a nod, and an 
attempt to look cheerful. 

Aunt Pen’s words came back to her, as she stood there 
watching him out of sight, and now they seemed to her 
not only truly dreadful, but dreadfully true, for of course 
a tremendous burden had fallen upon Roy, and she had 
selfishly permitted him to increase it by refusing to let 
her go home with aunt Pen, “ because he saw in my face 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


Hi 


how miserable it made me,” thought Gwin. She stood 
there a long while pondering the matter, longing for a 
chance to talk it over with her mother if only aunt Pen 
would release her, and finally resolving that if no other 
alternative could be found for helping Roy, she would 
even beg them to let her go away and learn to “ be a 
lady” under aunt Pen’s instructions. But she clung 
steadfastly to the hope of another alternative, and re- 
turned to her old speculations as to whether there might 
not be some work in the world for a girl like herself. 

Roy walked on with his head bent, and his eyes fixed 
on the path before him. He was no longer doubtful, but 
a good deal depressed from the work in which he had 
been engaged all the morning. The old account books 
told a story of liberal expenditures, and the necessary 
economies of the future made him fearful lest comfort too 
must often be sacrificed. The large sums that had been 
recklessly squandered made his own earnings look by 
contrast so meager a pittance that once or twice he was 
near losing his courage. 

It was his manly way to look the truth in the face, and 
the vision was dark and disheartening enough at the first 
glimpse, when he was compelled to suspect that the self- 
denial which had cost him so much, in reality amounted 
to so little in the way of helping those for whom he had 
gladly made it. It was almost a daunting thought which 
now came to him for the first time — what if, with the ut- 
most straining of every nerve, he could not manage to 
“ pull through ” ? 

“ I can do my best, at all events.” So he answered 


148 


THE OLD HOUSE 


these unwelcome thoughts, as he pushed on steadily in 
the teeth of a keen, nipping wind. “ Perhaps it is to 
bring one’s best out that these things are permitted to 
happen. There was some sense in what Gwin said by 
way of celebrating some specially wonderful cookery of 
hers : One never knows what talent lies hidden in one’s 
napkin, until circumstances bring it out. And mother 
often reminds us that we are commanded not to be anx- 
ious about the to-morrow. ... If I could only be sure 
that the house on Briar Hill would be habitable for them, 
I could manage the rest of it, I think. Of course we 
must leave the old place, and begin to cut down our ex- 
penses, without loss of time. Fate has already settled 
that. . . . Nothing remains for me but to do my best. . 
. To do my best — that is worth living for, let things go 
how they may.” 

Having thought it out to this point, Roy brightened 
perceptibly, and began to take more hopeful views of the 
changes that must soon be accomplished. 

“ The old place must be sold ; mother is quite right in 
that ; and if it will bring anything reasonably near to its 
actual value, it would be life made easy for her and the 
girls, once more. I suppose it is too much to expect 
from a forced sale, though.- I know the Dillingham place 
sold last fall for less than half its real value ; but then it 
was a bad time of year, and it does not lie in so good a 
part of the town as ours. Perhaps — ah ! I beg your 
pardon ! ” 

The last words were spoken aloud and apologetically, 
as Roy, who had been walking with his eyes cast down, 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


H9 


ran against some one, and pulled up hastily, to make 
amends. 

“ Hallo ! North, is that you, in such a brown study? ” 

The speaker wheeled sharply around, and shook hands 
with Roy cordially. “ Where are you bound to in so 
much of a hurry that you must walk over vour fellow- 
beings? ” 

“ I am on my way to Professor Yorke’s.’ 

“ All right. I don’t mind walking along with you, in 
that case, and for three reasons.” With which his fellow 
student linked an arm within that of Roy, and caught 
step. He proceeded with the gayest air to give his 
reasons. 

“ Firstly : I am commissioned to expostulate with you 
in the name of the class, to whose entreaty, rendered sev- 
erally and collectively, that you will come back to us, you 
answer in the words of the Lotos-eaters : * I will return 
no more.’ And I hereby expostulate.” 

“ Nc use, Browne,” answered Roy, smiling, yet resolute. 

“ Don’t interrupt — bad manners, North ! Where was 
I ? Oh, yes. Secondly : I have nothing else in particu- 
lar on hand, being out on a constitutional, when all ways 
are one to an exhausted student, who is sicklied o’er with 
the pale cast of thought, as the poet felicitously expresses 
a cadaverous and bilious complexion, caused by too rich 
‘ commons ’ and too little exercise ; and — by the way, I 
hope I don’t intrude ? ” 

“Oh, no,” said Roy, laughing at his whimsical com 
panion. “ Browne who never studies is much better than 
‘ brown studies,’ any day.” 


THE OLD HOUSE 


* 5 ° 


“ North — I suspicion a pun ; but I scorn to notice it. I 
hold my patronymic above all reproach, of that kind. 
And as for your base yet baseless insinuations, why, apol- 
ogize like a gentleman, or I order coffee and pea-shooters 
for two ! But how we waste each shining hour with this 
unprofitable chaff, when my important thirdly waits for a 
hearing. Know then that in Elm street — in point of 
fact, in the house just opposite to Professor Yorke’s, 
— there is stopping, on a visit, a * lioness ’ of the regu- 
lar royal type, — splendid specimen ; eyes warranted to do 
destruction at forty paces ; hair of the night and storm 
and darkness variety, black, billowy, and magnificent ; 
cheeks like a — like a — brunette peach, very mellow and 
deliciously tempting ; and lips — ‘ Oh, that those lips had 
language ! ’ (I never heard her speak ; have never been 
introduced, in point of fact. Explain, lest you should 
fancy she might be a dumb belle, you know.) * Life hath 
passed with me but roughly since I saw her last,’ which 
was about twenty minutes ago, when with infinite pains 
I constructed the third of the errands by which I have 
contrived to pass her house to-day, .and called at the 
Professor’s on the pretense of wishing to consult his 
celestial globe. And she sits calmly in the window and 
laughs at me for my pains.” 

“ Nonsense ! ” 

“ Alas ! not a bit of it. Admiration of her is an epi- 
demic, and we are all down with it, in an intermittent 
form ; chills and despondency, fever and hope, or, in the 
words of the poet, ‘a little glow, a little shiver.’ We re- 
mind ourselves of Young Copperfield, and she goes 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


151 


among us by the name of the * eldest Miss Larkins,’ be- 
cause, since our passion is hopeless, and rumor says, ‘She 
is Another’s,’ there seems to be a beautiful fitness in it.” 

“ I am much indebted to her,” said Roy, laughing at 
this gay rattlepate, whose lively nonsense had diverted 
him from his sober musings, “ whatever her real name 
may be.” 

“ Her name it is Beebe, and I don’t mind telling you 
that in consequence To Bee be, or Not to Bee be, is the 
question of paramount interest, at this present, in our 
debating club. Those who have been presented, and 
asked to call, are enthusiastically in favor of the ‘To,’ 
while the less fortunate members are obliged to take the 
‘ Not ’ side of the knotty question. . . . But all this is 
vanity and vexation. 1 am charged with weightier mat- 
ter for your hearing, North. The class will take serious 
action on this refusal of yours to return. In a general 
way, it is not treating the class fairly. You know we 
were a set of rather remarkably ‘ bright, particular stars,' 
and there’s Hervey dead — poor fellow ! which left you 
our head and front ; and next you retire, leaving us 
doubly decapitated. It won’t do, really, North. We all 
feel that, and we are prepared to give substantial proof 
that we do.” 

Here Browne wrung Roy’s hand, to farther emphasize 
his delicately conveyed intimation. 

“It can’t be, my dear fellow; although, believe me, I 
entirely appreciate the great kindness ” 

“But, look h&re, North!” expostulated Browne, who 
was very much in earnest now. “ Don’t let any foolish 


152 


THE OLD HOUSE 


delicacy interfere. You are to understand that the obli- 
gation will be on our side. As a class, we have prided 
ourselves on our superior array of talent ; there never 
was a set of fellows so proud of anything before. We 
can’t spare you — one of our best and brightest. We 
looked for all manner of future honors and laurels through 
you, you know. And then, aside from the selfish and 
class view of the thing, North, what an unmitigated in- 
jury it will be to your personal ambitions and prospects, 
if you persist in this course. We want you to cram, and 
come back to us next term.” 

“Impossible,” was all that Roy could say. ' 

“ Come, North, you are not of the Medes and Persians, 
whose inflexibility was only another name for the tough- 
est kind of obstinacy. Surely you are not one who would 
fling away all your best chances for the sake of a false 
pride ? ” 

“No, Browne. You are quite right. Pride, false or 
otherwise, has nothing to do with it ; and I am not going 
to fling away my ambitions, or any chances that may be 
rightfully mine. But I am compelled to take them as 
they come, instead of seeking them. I must give my 
time and energies to some active employment now, and 
begin to make, rather than to absorb money, as hereto- 
fore. You see the case is simple. I am * the only son of 
my mother, and she a widow,’ and they all look to me 
now.” 

“ And so you decide to give up everything ? I don’t 
see any call of duty in that. I admit that it is heroic ; but 
the line must be drawn somewhere ; and a man owes a 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


I 53 


\ 

duty to himself also. It seems to me that you are losing 
sight of that fact. Beside, in a few years after leaving 
college, you will have won a position and an income that 
will more than compensate your family for some present 
inconvenience.” 

“ I have thought it all over, Browne, and I am sure that, 
it is not right to shirk a present duty, and to count upon, 
the future — of which we can know nothing — to make it 
all right. Suppose that before this future of ease and fame 
which you prophesy comes I should die, like poor Her- 
vey? There would be some bitter regrets in my last 
hours, I fear, — such as he knew nothing of.” 

“ Are you sure that if you live there will not also be 
some ‘ bitter regrets in the years to come, when you 
are forced to remember all you have let go ? ” 

“ I don’t think I have anything to do with that. I be- 
lieve that when one does what seems to be the abso- 
lutely right thing, according to one’s lights, there never 
ought to be a regret possible afterward.” 

“I see there is nothing to be done with you,” said 
Browne, regretfully. 

“ Oh, if I dared to let my wishes rule me, I should be 
as wax in your hands. But inclination is a most unsafe 
counselor. I have had to stop my ears against it, as 
the mariners did against the voices of the Syrens. It 
cost a struggle to leave you, but it was right, and I did 
it. So you see it is impossible to turn back. Make 
them understand how it is, and how — thanking them and 
you with all my heart, — I cannot yield.” 

“ It shall be done ! You are not offended, North ? ” 




J 54 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“On the contrary, I am pleased that you think me 
worth all the trouble you have taken. You are a regu- 
lar Mephistopheles at persuasion, too, Browne, only, I am 
not a Faust, you see ! ” 

“Yes, that’s the difficulty! Well, nothing remains, I 
suppose, but for me to report my failure, and for us to 
abide by your decision ? I can’t tell you how sorry I am 
for it. I wish you could be made to look at the matter 
in a different light.” 

Browne was doomed to disappointment that day, for. 
before they reached Elm street a voice hailed Roy, a 
comfortable, old-fashioned chaise, like an easy-chair on 
wheels, drew up at the curb-stone, and Professor Yorke, 
looking out, invited Roy to take the vacant seat at his 
side. 

Roy did so, and as they drove on, he laid all his per- 
plexities before his fatherly friend, sure of receiving wise 
counsel in return. 

“Yes; I suppose you will have to sell the homestead; 
but before we can decide upon anything we must go and 
look at the Briar Hill property,” was the Professor’s opin- 
ion. “ What do you say, Roy, shall we drive on up there, 
at once? There will be time to examine the house at 
least, and still return before dark, I think.” 

Roy was only too glad to accept this friendly proposal, 
and Professor Yorke turned the horse’s head towards the 
long ascent of Briar Hill, mildly persuading that some- 
what indolent and pampered steed to a livelier pace with 
occasional flicks of the whip, which was generally placed 
in the chaise socket more for ornament than use. 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


155 


It was a long, winding road, making here and there a 
dip, as if, indeed, it ascended the crests of a series of 
hills ; and it ran beside bare uplands, or newly ploughed 
fields, and through bleak bits of leafless woods, that gave 
no hint of the beauty which summer bestowed upon it. 
Leaning back upon the cushions, Professor Yorke turned 
his cordial face towards Roy, and talked in that mellow, 
friendly voice it was always so good to hear. 

“We received our regular journal-letter from Archie 
last night,” he said. “The boy seems a little out of pa- 
tience with us because Persis doesn’t get well. I have 
never written to him that we fear her case is incurable. 
His mother says he will take it so to heart that we must 
break it gently to him ; and the right time for ill news 
never comes. So he, poor boy ! worries at us for a set 
of easy-going people, who don’t try to do all we can for 
her.” 

“ It was Percy’s wish, also, that he should not be told 
the worst of her misfortune.” 

“And now you have prepared another grievance for 
him, Roy, so that he can balance his trouble, as the Chi- 
nese balance their burdens, — a weight at each end.” 

“ Archie doesn’t take it so. I wrote to him about my 
altered plans, before any one else knew of them.” 

“ Did you ? I might have known you would. And he 
did not look upon it as another blow ? ” 

“ He encouraged and strengthened me ; he would have 
done the same under similar circumstances, he said. But 
for him, I don’t know how I should have stood out against 
all the rest, for they don’t see any duty in it.” 


1 5 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“And ‘pester you with messages’? Yes, I know. 
Well, is the matter quite settled ? Did Browne get a final 
answer ? ” 

“ Yes. It is settled at last,” said Roy, in a tone of relief. 

The Professor turned a beaming face upon him. 

“You thought you had the struggle all alone, Roy. 
But one friend at least was watching you, and the first 
sign of failing strength would have brought you aid. I 
thought I knew you ; I dared to trust you to work it out 
by yourself. I could not interfere by a word, to mar the 
test, or take from your victory. Now I can say you have 
done nobly, and I am heartily proud of you, my boy.” 

This high commendation, proceeding from such a 
source, made Roy’s cheek glow with pleasure. 

With the exception of his own family and Archie, his 
friends had until now met him with nothing but expostu- 
lations against an act which they persisted in setting 
down as absurd and mistaken. 

To be understood and so encouraged at this moment, 
renewed Roy’s faith in himself, and he tried to tell the 
Professor so, while paying every respect to the good in- 
tentions of those who had meant only kindness in urging 
him to retrieve his mistake. 

“ Good intentions are not enough, Roy. We all mean 
well, but that alone accomplishes nothing. The deed 
must go with it. It is our business in life to act well, also.” 

“ There are friends who help, and friends who hinder,” 
said Roy ; and he thought, with a glance of gratitude at 
the Professor: “ It is well for me that you and Archie be- 
long to the friends who help.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


J 57 


XIV. 

Gold in the Gray. 

The cottage on Briar Hill was reached just as the an- 
gry clouds which had filled the sullen sky broke into rifts, 
and the whole west flamed with a splendid crimson sun- 
set. 

It stood tenantless, and at the first glance looked a 
ruinous and worthless possession. 

At a farm-house lying below the last turn in the road, 
a mile or more distant, they had obtained the keys from 
farmer Dobson, together with an uninviting statement of 
the condition of the property. 

“ Guess the buildin’s aint much account,” he told them, 
with an indifferent air. “ Th’ say the cla’boardin’ won’t 
keep out the weather. The ruff needs new shinglin’, and 
I ruther guess the old shell wouldn’t pay for the time and 
trubble of repairin’ on it. That’s my mind. The land ? 
Wal, it’s proper poor stuff, most on’t, not fit to even keep 
sheep on, scussly ; and on the hull, I calkelate you’ll go 
back a mighty sight quicker’n ye come, if you’re thinkin’ 
of buyin’.” 

This was only justifying Roy’s fears. Briar Hill was 
not spoken well of by those who knew it best, and its 
very name was against it. 

The first approach to the house confirmed farmer Dob- 
son’s views, certainly. Many of the brown, mossy pick- 


THE OLD HOUSE 


158 


ets had fallen from the garden paling ; the broken gate 
sagged on one rusty hinge ; the garden itself, though 
spacious, and once laid out with a trim arrangement of 
long walks, now bristled with gray lilacs, gnarled and 
mildewed with age, unpruned fruit trees scattered here 
and there, a rude bench of boards under one of them 
dropping to decay, and all speaking of long neglect -and 
desolation. 

Roy noted all these things silently, and with a sense of 
reluctance turned his gaze towards the house. It had 
once been smart and white ; it was now gray and forlorn. 
Many of its windows were broken, and had been stuffed 
by the last tenant with old hats and rags, until it really 
looked like a refuge for decayed scarecrows. 

Along one side of the house projected a ruinous lean- 
to, which had apparently been as cheaply constructed as 
possible by some former occupant whose needs could not 
be accommodated in the original kitchen. The opposite 
side had been made with a view to economy, to serve as 
the back of a tumble-down shed, which had been built as 
a shelter for a flock of sheep. 

“ These are mere additions, for which you can have no 
use, and the sooner they are pulled down the better," said 
Professor Yorke, after they had examined both. “With 
these taken away, you see, the house itself will not be an 
unsightly building, if it should prove habitable.” 

After this first disappointment, Roy was much and 
agreeably surprised to find the house a comfortable and 
roomy cottage, standing in need of a good deal of repair, 
it is true, but looking in a much worse condition than it 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


J 59 


was in reality, and capable of being refurnished into quite 
a respectable abode. 

Roy, looking at the small bare rooms, the cramped 
winding staircases, and narrow halls, their dingy paint, 
and weather-stained walls, and the cobwebbed windows, 
out of whose broken panes the scarecrows were looking, 
could not imagine anything beyond the possibility of con- 
verting the place into a decent shelter until he should be 
able to provide a more fitting home for his mother and 
sisters, and already his thoughts were dwelling on that 
happier prospect. 

But Professor Yorke contemplated only that which lay 
before him, and steadfastly went on examining wood- 
work, stone-work, rooms and closets, even from the cel- 
lar to the garret. Then he asked Roy to take out his 
note-book and make a rough sketch of the plan of each 
floor. 

This done, Professor Yorke took possession of the pa- 
per, and they proceeded to look at the garden, stable and 
orchard. There was not time for an inspection of the 
outlying domain of field and woodland, as already the 
early twilight was closing upon them, but that was of 1 
small matter, since the new tenants were not to be farm- 
ers, and the quality of the soil was of little consequence 
to them, therefore. 

The Professor locked the door and gave the key to 
Roy, as they returned to the chaise 

“It is most fortunate that you have this place,” he re- 
marked, as they drove rapidly homeward. “ With this, 
and the proceeds of the sale of the village property, your 


i6o 


THE OLD HOUSE 


mother will be left much better provided for than I had 
ventured to hope would be the case.” 

Roy looked out through the gathering gloom with a 
friendly glance upon Briar Hill, and he felt that it had 
been one of the Providential mercies that he had hap- 
pened to meet Professor Yorke in his chaise, since through 
that event so many comfortable things had turned up 
their unsuspected bright sides. 

“ I shall see Spofford at once,” the Professor continued, 
“and show him your sketch of the house. - He will give 
me an estimate of the cost of all the necessary repairs, 
and of certain alterations which I am going to propose to 
have made to add to the convenience and pleasantness of 
the rooms. I wish you would come round to-night and 
meet him at my house. We must lose no time, and if he 
puts on enough workmen, it ought not to be long before 
the house is ready for you to take possession.” 

As Roy alighted at his own gate he received a parting 
charge to select from his father’s large library all the rare 
and valuable books which he might like to retain. 

“Don’t fancy it an extravagance, my boy. They are 
your capital,” he said. “ The mind must not be left to 
starve while you are toiling for the needs of the body, and 
you will find that you can do a good -amount of study in 
your leisure hours.” 

It had threatened to De a most dismal afternoon for 
Gwin after Roy had disappeared from sight, leaving with 
her that impression of his being overburdened. She hun- 
gered fora “good talk,” and not a word was possible, 
for Percy must rat be farther harrassed, she looked so 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


161 


exhausted, lying with closed eyes, and taking no part in 
the conversation in which aunt Pen engrossed the moth- 
er’s attention ; and Betty could give no help in her pres- 
ent state. 

As for aunt Pen, Gwin would never have thought of 
turning to her for aid, and yet it was from her that aid— * 
such as it was — came. 

She was very much crushed by the state of affairs, and 
it was so evident that she thought this fall of the North 
family from its old estate must shake the world, that 
Gwin could not but perceive it and be amused. Aunt 
Pen bewailed herself in a stately way over the departed 
grandeur, the descent to a commonplace level of the fam- 
ily, and the passing of the old house into other hands. 
The latter dispensation was a very great blow to her pride. 

“ After all, aunt Pen, they are only stocks and stones,” 
said Gwin, experiencing what she chose to call “ a return 
of her contrairyness,” for her native cheerfulness of dis- 
position could not keep itself under, when opposed by so 
much gloom. “ Are they now ? And it is very silly of 
us girls to be so sorry at leaving them, I suppose. I mean 
to make myself remember every time I feel a pang over 
them, that it is only lath-and-plaster that I am bedewing 
with tears and embalming with sighs.” 

Gwin gave a little bright laugh, but aunt Pen only 
sighed. 

“My child, I don’t expect you to understand. You 
never cared for the old traditions ; you never respected 
the history of the house ; you have not inherited the fam- 
ily pride.” 


THE OLD HOUSE 


l63 


“ * Lancelot, I fear that thou art no true knight,’ ” mur- 
mured Gwin, softly smiling. 

“ And how can you care for all these things, which now 
we must resign?” demanded aunt Pen sorrowfully. 

“Why, that’s it, aunt Pen. I don’t see the use of re- 
signing anything. Why can’t we do with the traditions 
and things as the daughter of Laban the Syrian did with 
her father’s images ? Only we won’t deny them.” 

“ Carry them with you, my dear?” asked aunt Pen, 
looking much pleased. “Yes. I am sure 1 hope you 
will.” 

“I don’t see,” said Gwin, in an aggrieved tone, “why 
we need to come down to a commonplace sort of life, be- 
cause we are going into another house, and shall not have 
much money any more.” 

“ You will have to come into contact with rude people, 
and coarse things. Insensibly they will have an effect on 
you,” said aunt Pen. “ I know this from experience. 
Misfortune befell the family of one of the dearest friends 
of my childhood — a sweet, delicate young girl. They 
moved away, and I lost sight of them. Years after, when 
we were middle-aged women, and she had been long 
married to a worthy man, but one who was much beneath 
her, she visited me. My dear, she helped herself to but- 
ter with her own knife, and her husband was ignorant of 
the use of finger-glasses.” 

“ Perhaps she didn’t take her father’s images,” said 
Gwin. 

“ No ; they had to give up everything to satisfy the 
creditors. I suppose at first they had to do without, and 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


163 


afterward they grew careless. Unfortunate people gen- 
erally do grow careless, I have observed.” Aunt Pen 
sighed over this deplorable tendency, shook her head and 
added: “You had much better come with me, Gwin. 
Think of it again.” 

“ Perhaps I shall,” Gwin thought. “ But I have got 
that “ commonplace ” theory to tussle with, before I give 
up. Of course I don’t believe a word of it — as a neces- 
sity.” 

She stood so silent and thoughtful at the window that 
at length her mother observed it, and with a quiet smile 
asked : 

“ What are you thinking of, Gwin ? ” 

She turned, flashed a look of intelligence at her mother, 
and answered : 

“ I was thinking of how Emily Bronte used to knead 
the bread, and learn her German lessons at the same 
time, out of a book propped before her on the kitchen 
table.” 

Mrs. North nodded, expressing that she understood, 
and Gwin left the room unconscious of the look of aston- 
ishment with which aunt Pen exclaimed : 

“ What an extraordinary child ! What queer speeches 
she makes, and how strangely 'she jumbles things to- 
gether.” 

Gwin’s next operation was to seclude herself behind 
the curtains of the great hall window, with a pencil and 
sheet of paper, on which she made an inventory of her 
accomplishments. It was a shabby little list, and as she 
set down a very black lead cypher after the words music, 


164 


THE OLD HOUSE 


fainting, embroidery, English branches, she shook her 
head at them, with much self-reproach. Finally she drew 
a flourish under the column of cyphers, and set down the 
answer beneath : “Good for nothing.” 

Then she pondered over a new list, which included 
plain sewing, crocheting, knitting, and other unambitious 
ways of money-getting, and another discouraging row of 
cyphers was the result. 

She nibbled her pencil a while in thought over these 
sums. 

“ It is clear that I can do nothing well enough to. earn 
money by,” she said, “unless I go out as housemaid. I 
am capital at dusting and arranging, and I know I could 
wait at table to perfection. But if I am to leave home at 
all, I might as well go with aunt Pen, and help wait on 
aunt Sylvia. No ; I must learn a trade. What shall it 
be? Something I can do at home.” 

She puzzled her brain in vain, not in the least knowing 
what sorts of trades were open to girls, until she be- 
thought her of an old book full of pictures illustrating the 
arts of different nations. Everything that seemed in the 
least likely to answer, she copied out, artificial flower- 
making, map-coloring, wood-carving, fan-painting, straw- 
braiding, but she was suddenly daunted by the remem- 
brance that to learn any one of these arts she must go 
away from home and spend an impossible sum of money. 

“The needle is the only thing I’m afraid. I wonder 
how it would do to go around from house to house, darn- 
ing stockings and making button-holes. I can do those, 
and I should see a good deal of life. Or — I might — ” she 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


165 


had been idly surveying the clearly written page, and 
her face swiftly brightened, “yes — I declare — I might 
copy — I can do that, even better than button-holing, — 
and be a real help to Roy. How odd ! to have ransacked 
the world way back to the time of Isis, and the useful 
arts she taught the people, to find out that I could do 
what I was doing all the time. . . He gets so much a 
page, I know ; and he may just get a few more pages for 
me to do. I will begin to practice ‘ copperplate ’ right 
away.” 

With the utmost delight she proceeded to collect her 
copy and materials, and spent the remaining hour of day- 
light in painstaking by imitating hair-lines and heavy 
strokes. 

She did not in the least care, as Betty would have done, 
that there could never be any individuality in her work, 
she was so entirely happy in the thought that now, at 
last, she too could be of use in the world, and help, in 
never so small and unambitious a way, to bear Roy’s bur- 
den. Her one trouble was that the days would never be 
long enough to let her do all that she wished. 

She had gone down into the sitting-room, and was look- 
ing out into the gathering gray, watching for her broth- 
er’s return, when it suddenly occurred to her how utterly 
forlorn she had expected that afternoon to be, and how 
altogether pleasant she had found it. 

“Are you there, dear?” asked Percy. 

“Yes. Did I wake you ? ” 

“ I was not asleep. I was thinking of you, and what a 
dull day you must have had.” 


THE OLD HOUSE 




1 66 


“ It did promise well that way, but it turned out ever 
so jolly. I’ve found out a thing, Percy. Days don’t stay 
dismal, unless one lets them. I was tempted, but I soared 
above it — on the plume of a goose.” 

Then Roy came in, fresh and breezy from the moun- 
tains, with his cheerful tidings, and if no one could pre- 
tend to feel jubilant over the prospect, they were all 
much relieved to have so much concerning the future 
settled. 

After Gwin had come down from giving Betty her tea, 
and such consolatory pictures of the house on Briar Hill 
as she could touch up into sunny bits of landscapes from 
Percy’s reminiscences, and Roy’s rather unsatisfactory 
descriptions, it was decided that they might select the 
best and the dearest from among the books, pictures, 
furniture and ornaments of the house, to take with them 
in their flitting. 

Gwin and Roy, with a candle apiece, repaired at once 
to the library, to begin the important work of choosing. 
Gwin with a pencil and slips of paper wrote out the lists, 
as Roy hauled down the books, read out their titles, and 
piled them up in two heaps, the retained and the dis- 
carded. 

While they worked, he told her about his meeting with 
Browne, and being urged to come back to them, in the 
name of the class, of his refusal, and how Archie’s father 
had watched him all along, and approved. 

“You can’t think how much good it did me, Gwin, to 
have him say so. If one thinks a thing over too much, 
and from too many points, one gets befogged.” 


ON BRIAR IIILL. 


167 


“Yes, indeed. Things have such a trick of getting 
double-and-twisted ? I've felt that, too; and how often 
I have wished I could be like the child in the allegory, 
who had a little cross given her, and whatever flowers or 
fruit the shadow of the cross fell on, those she might 
pluck and eat, but only those. I wonder what she did in 
the cloudy days, though.” 

“ Those are the days when we need to be led by the 
shadow most, aren't they ? Well, we are guided in some 
wise way, if we really wish to be. I was almost begin- 
ning to think myself a conceited prig for holding out so 
against them all, when the friend was sent to say the 
good word that was to strengthen me.” 

“ If you ever had any doubts about your conduct, Roy, 
I am sure / never had ! ” exclaimed Gwin, with flushing 
cheeks, and sparkling eyes that looked up at him admir- 
ingly. “ Though to be sure,” she added, laughingly, “it 
would have been just the same, I suppose, if you had 
done precisely the reverse.” 

“ Aren’t you an incorrigible little goosie, Winifred, 
dear? ” said her brother, laughing too, and looking down 
at her from the top of the step-ladder. 

“ Yes, my dear Roy. if faith in you is a proof of goosi- 
ness, I certainly must be what you are so obliging as to 
call me ! ” retorted Gwin, with perfect good humor. 
“You know it is a part of my creed that my Rot can do 
no wrong.” 

He laughed, and pulled her saucy little rings of golden 
curls ; then grew more serious, and answered : 


THE OLD HOUSE 


1 68 


“ Very good. I am glad to know that. Be sure you 
remind me of it often ; say, once a week.” 

“Why, dear?” 

“ Because if there is any virtue in sackcloth and ashes, 
I may as well have it.” 

“ My good opinion is sackcloth and ashes to you, is 
it? ” 

“ In a way. It humiliates me because I don’t deserve 
it, and at the same time it spurs me on to do better. 
You’d better mention it once a week, if you please.” 

“ One good turn deserves another,” Gwin suggested. 

“ That was established anno mundi ever-so-long-ago,” 
Roy admitted ; “when fairies flourished and fishes talked. 
What do you want me to do, in return ? ” 

“ Something — ” Gwin hesitated, not liking to develop 
her plan yet. 

“ It’s a bargain,' said Roy, gravely. 

The next morning ushered in busy times. They lin- 
gered over the breakfast table, discussing what was to be 
done. 

“ I find it is important that I should first of all go up 
to the house, and see what rooms we have to furnish. 
Then I can judge better what we ought to take,” said 
Mrs. North. 

“ Professor Yorke said you are to have the chaise when- 
ever you wish to use it. I can drive up with you myself 
this morning, for I promised Spofford to be there,” said 
Roy. 

“You say the rooms are quite small — like cottage 
rooms ? ” asked Gwin. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


169 


“ Yes ; in comparison with these,” Roy answered. 

“That will be much more cosy in winter,” said Percy, 
who was inclined to view all the Briar Hill prospects 
through rose-colored glasses. 

Betty’s eyes slowly wandered over the faded breadths 
of Axminster, as she added : 

“ And there will be another advantage. If we can’t 
afford to buy new carpets, we can cut out the shabbiest 
places in these, and still have enough to cover the floors 
quite respectably.” 


XV. 

Briars. 

It was beginning the day well indeed, to have Betty 
deliberately looking up the advantages. She went about 
her occupations with a quiet cheerfulness that set them 
quite at ease about her, once more. With a tender 
thoughtfulness that was all her own, she made Persis 
feel herself helpful, by suggesting that she should take 
into her own hands the packing of the more delicate 
ornaments, the statuettes and vases, that required par- 
ticular care. They made a cheerful fiction of it, and 
such things as were rare and frail they brought 
to her sofa, with a loving pretense of not seeing how 
slowly her thin hands performed their task, and what 


THE OLD HOUSE 


I70 


long rests she had to take between the wrapping up 
in cotton of each trifle. 

Rose, who was revelling in a long holiday of busy idle- 
ness, took it upon her to laboriously dig up, with a spade 
considerably larger than herself, all the favorite bulbs 
and roots in the garden. She had already filled two straw 
hampers of goodly size with lily-of-the-valley, and white 
and purple asphodel bulbs, roots of moss-roses, and Parma 
violets, when one morning, early after breakfast, Roy, on 
his way to business, came across her flushed, panting, 
and tugging away with an Herculean strength of de- 
termination at the roots of a large rose tree, upon which, 
however, she made very little impression in her vigorous 
efforts at undermining. 

“ Why, Rose ! what are you doing to your namesake ?” 
asked Roy, stroking the silken rings away from her moist 
forehead. “ You might as well attempt to transplant 
‘Birnam wood to high Dunsinane hill,’ as to spade up 
those tough runners. Your little hands were never made 
to do it, my pet.” “ O, but I must , Roy,” urged Rose, 
looking up confidently. “ Take a smaller bush, Rose. 
You can easily dig up those pretty little Burgundy roses 
with a trowel. Won’t they do as w r ell ?” 

Rose slowly shook her head a great many times to 
emphasize her opinion that they would not. 

“ What is the special attraction of this particular bush ” 
he asked, perceiving she had some reason for her unusual 
pertinacity. Generally the little creature was as sweetly 
yielding to those she loved and trusted, as a gentle and 
unselfish nature could be. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


l 7 1 


“ Why, don’t you know, Roy? This is the beautiful 
white rose of York, that Archie gave to Percy on her 
birthday, when I was so little I can’t remember, only I 
know he brought it over, and planted it himself just under 
her window. It was her window then, you know, before 
she was hurt, and could never go up stairs any more.” 

“ And so you want to take it up to the new home for 
Percy ?” 

“ Yes, and plant it where it will grow under her window 
up there ; and some morning she will look out, and there 
it will be, all full of lovely white blossoms ! She doesn’t 
know a word about it,” said Rose eagerly. “ It is to be 
a surprise ! .... So you see I must dig it up some- 
how.” 

And the child began tugging at the spade with fresh 
energy. 

“ Never mind it now, Rose. It is too much for 
you. If you will leave it until evening, I will get it up for 
you, and to-morrow you shall go up to the new garden 
with me, expressly to help set it out.” 

“ May I ? O, what a nice boy you are, Roy !” 

A bit of flattery this, which his sisters were quite in the 
habit of bestowing on him, as an expression of gratitude 
for some kindly act on his part. 

“ But you won’t tell anybody a word about, will you, 
Roy? Honor bright ?” 

“Not a word; honor bright,” Roy promised, and 
catching her up lightly, he gave her a kiss on each glow- 
ing cheek, before he hastened away to his duties. 

Gwin went around the house, as busy as a bee, packing 


172 


THE OLD HOUSE 


boxes of books, and baskets of china, all the while sing- 
ing, as appropriate to the occasion, — 

“ Will you come to my mountain home, love ? 

Will you come to the hills with me ?” 

Through the wild woods we will roam, love, 

With our spirits light and free — ” 

her own “light and free ” by anticipation. 

Working all the time with gayest energy, and singing 
through the halls, sometimes getting into funny dilemmas, 
and always getting out of them by funnier expedients, 
she did more than her part to keep the household cheer- 
ful, and yet was all the time as oddly unconscious as 
possible of her own bright influence. Betty did her best 
not to dwell upon the change. She loved, almost like a 
living thing, the home that had been hers, — the spacious, 
familiar halls and rooms so full of proud associations 
with the prosperous days she could never forget, — the 
garden with its fragrant alleys, its stately, shaded walks, 
its bosquets, statues, and garden seats in evergreen 
niches, — the whole aristocratic air and reputation of the 
place where all the Norths down to little Rose had 
been born for five generations or more. 

Her very name had descended to her through a goodly 
line of stately and beautiful dames, whose pictures — taken 
^ in their court or wedding suits of richest flowered bro- 
cades that would have “ stood alone,” — hung through the 
house, and as she stood among them, she felt keenly 
what it was to leave all these grand belongings to pass 
into the hands of strangers, to feel herself an exile from 
the roof that had sheltered her all her life. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


*73 


She uttered no lament — she was trying to over-live her 
folly ; bui her heart was sore, and her eyes glistened in 
spite of her resolution, if she let her thoughts dwell upon 
what must so soon be resigned. 

Whenever this weakness threatened to overcome her 
she would go and stand awhile before a large ivory 
miniature of a young girl, exquisitely fair and delicate to 
look upon, who, having finished her education abroad, 
was lost at sea, as she was returning home. Aunt Pen 
was fond of telling how heroically she had waited for 
death, cheering the frightened women with the hymns she 
so sweetly sang, while the storm raged about her. It 
had happened half a century ago, but as she smiled 
gravely into the wistful eyes of her young kinswoman, 
she seemed, Betty thought, to reach forth a helping hand 
to her. 

One afternoon, with some visible trepidation, Gwin came 
to seek her sister, and paused beside her in irresolute 
silence. She was in the upper hall, carefully packing one 
of the Madam Bettys for removal, for, each having been 
allowed her choice of household goods to take to the new 
home, Betty had settled that none of the family portraits 
should ever incur the indignity of coming under the 
auctioneer’s hammer. 

“ It is slow work,” she exclaimed, intent upon her fair 
and stately ancestress ; “ but what is worth doing at all, 
is worth doing well ; and how can I better honor my 
forefathers and mothers, than by paying all due respect 
to their canvases and frames?” 

“ Betty, dear,” said Gwin reluctantly, “Do you think 


*74 


THE OLD HOUSE 


you could leave them awhile? I am son*}’- — but Lolly 
Langdon is in the parlor, and she asked particularly for 
you.” 

“ Lolly Langdon !” repeated Betty with an expression 
of decided distaste. “ I don’t see what she can want of 
me. I do not like her the least in the world, and never 
pretended to — she has the worst manners of any girl I 
know, and is purse-proud beside !” 

“She hasn’t anything else to be proud of,” said Gwin, 
with a comical arching of her brows. 

“ I do wish I need not see her,” added Betty fervently. 

“ I did my best to excuse you, — but she was so per- 
sistent.” 

“ O, well ! Of course I must be civil, though I don’t 
think she is — to force herself upon one, so.” 

Betty sighed, and rose' reluctantly. 

“ Don’t let her vex you Bettine ! I am afraid she has 
some such malicious intention in her head,” said Gwin. 
anxiously. 

“ No, dear ; I will keep my guard up, and my visor 
down, and if she should by any chance, give a mortal 
thrust, she shall never know it,” said Betty, laughing in 
spite of her annoyance, as they went down stairs to- 
gether. 

The unwelcome guest greeted her with effusion, but 
Betty, while she took the outstretched hand with perfect 
good breeding, wore a quiet air of dignity that checked 
even the usually irrepressible Lolly Langdon half way in 
the act of bestowing upon her a school-girlish salute. 

“ Pa says I am quite a spoilt child,” exclaimed Lolly, 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


*75 


“ and I suppose I must be, for I always contrive to have 
my own way. I was determined I would see you, though 
I assure you Gwin tried her best to put me off with 
excuses.” 

“ Winifred knew that I was very much engaged,” ex- 
plained Betty, with stately politeness. It did not suit 
her ideas of propriety that “ strangers ” should make free 
with the family pet names. 

‘ O, I have no doubt of it. Of course you must be, at 
such a time, and I know you wouldn’t expect to see every- 
body ! But people always make exceptions forme. It’s 
curious — but — -just to give you an idea ! — ma went to 
town, the other day, expressly to get me a new dress to 
wear to the wedding of a friend of mine, — you don’t know 
her, — she is Maria Townley, and they live in New York, 
on Fifth Avenue, — they’re immensely rich, and Maria is 
the dearest friend I have in the world ! We are just like 
own sisters ! Why ! she even wrote me all the particu- 
lars of her engagement, before she so much as breathed a 
syllable about it to her own folks ! Well — ma went in 
to get my dress, — for, of course, I am to be first brides- 
maid, — there are to be seven ! — and she found the most 
heavenly blue satin, — thick as a board — and only one 
pattern imported ; and lo ! and behold, that was just 
sold ! Ma was bound to have it, though, for it was a new 
shade, just introduced, and the very thing to suit my com- 
plexion ! Beside, she said she didn’t believe that, rich as 
they are, Maria had ever Jiad such a satin as that in her 
life. I don’t either ! So ma just hung on, and worried 
the clerks, and when they insisted upon it that it was im- 


176 


THE OLD HOUSE 


possible to let her have it, as another customer had 
ordered it laid aside, ma sent for the manager, and talked 
until she talked him into it. He gave up at last, and 
said since it was for Miss Lang don, and under the cir-i 
cumstances, she must have it, he supposed. But ma had 
to offer almost double price, and cash down, though, as 
she says, ‘what’s money, when you’ve set your heart on 
any particular thing ?’ . . . So you see / always manage to 
get what I want, some way, and I thought if I was ever 
to see you again I must do it now, before you go up on 
the hills beyond the reach of civilization.” 

“ Don’t you think it might amuse you to come up 
sometime, and study the habits and customs of bar- 
barians ?” asked Gwin, trying to look sufficiently serious. 

“ La, no ! I should never find time for such an expedi- 
tion, I’m so completely taken up with society. I’m sure 
I don’t see how you girls live, to go out so little. I’m sur- 
prised to see you so cheerful, too. I know I should cry 
my eyes out, if we had to go and live in such an out- 
landish place. It’s perfectly dreadful. I’m sure I pity 
you with all my heart !” 

“ It is very kind, but we are scarcely what they call ‘ de- 
serving objects.’ I am not at all afflicted by the change,” 
Gwin answered gayly. “ In fact, I really long to get it 
over.” 

“ Dear me / I was never so amazed in my life ! Is it 
possible / To leave this splendid old place, and this nice, 
great house for little tucked up rooms, — I wonder at you ! 
But, by-the-way, that is part of my reason for insisting 
upon being let in. I thought perhaps you would let me 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


177 


go over the house. I should not mind things being 
topsy-turvy a bit !” 

“I don’t think it will be possible to oblige you,” said 
Betty, as Lolly had addressed the request to her. 

“ O, you don’t understand me !” exclaimed Miss Lang- 
don , “but the truth is I do hate these stuck-up, new- 
fangled villas, and I should so admire to live in an old, 
aristocratic-looking mansion like this ! It looks as if one 
had ‘had a grandfather,’ as they say, though I don’t 
quite see the sense of it, either, — for, of course, everybody 
must have had a grandfather, and a grandmother, too ! 
But, you see, pa always does whatever I ask him, if I 
tease him hard enough, and I mean that he shall buy 
this place if it costs him twice what it is worth ! But la ! 
pa wouldn’t mind the money, — he never does !” 

Here was a blow, hard enough to bear ! 

Gwin saw the hot blood mount, and spread all over 
Betty’s face, and quick as thought she moved between 
her and their guest, so shielding her from the observa- 
tion of Miss Langdon’s sharp, black eyes until she had 
time to recover. In a moment Betty, quiet and self- 
collected, replied in steady tones, — 

“ It will be inconvenient to show you any of the rooms 
to-day. But after we are gone, I presume the house will 
be open to the inspection of any one who may think of 
buying.” 

Miss Langdon looked much aggrieved that even her 
insinuating petition, “*0, pray do ! everybody does 
everything for me y I assure you !” had no sort of effect 
in gaining her point, and evidently cut her call short. 


THE OLD HOUSE 


178 


Yet she contrived to make quite a number of her 
‘ speeches ' before she fairly took her leave. 

“ O, by-the-by !” she said, as she lingered in the hall 
and cast approving glances at its rich panels and elabo- 
rate wood-work, “how soon do you think you will be 
moved ! Maria and her husband will spend a week or 
two with me on their return from the wedding tour, and 
I am bent upon our getting in here and all settled before 
Aat. There will be so much to do to get ready for them, 
for we shall new furnish entirely, and pa will have a good 
many alterations made, the modern improvements, you 
know, such as one never finds in these old-fashioned 
houses !” 

“ We shall be moved before the day of the sale,” said 
Betty. “It is not very definite, but it is all that I can tell 
you. We consult our own convenience in the matter : 
and the weather, and the state of my sister Persis’ health 
will have much to do with my mother’s decision.” 

“ Yes, I suppose so. Miss North is very much worse, 
isn’t she?” 

“We hope not. She would naturally be more weak, 
we think, in this variable spring weather.” 

“ O, doubtless! I hoard she was looking miserably , 
but of course I can’t judge, not having had the pleasure 
of seeing her.” 

“ She is not able to receive visitors ; she sees only a few 
of our old family friends !” 

“Well, good-bye, dear ! I’m sure I don’t know as I 
shall ever lay eyes on you again, you are going so entire- 
ly out of the world.” 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


179 


“ Yes," said Gwin, who had been softly humming in a 
particular doleful minor, ''Adieu ! ’tis love’s last greet- 
ing,” to keep Betty properly toned down to the pathos of 
the occasion ; “it is true we are going up higher ; we 
shall, in fact, quite overlook you dwellers in the valley ! 
But though we shall very likely be higher-minded and 
proud-spirited, we shall try not to feel above you ; and if 
you ever do climb to our heights .we will welcome you 
with all the honors.” 

“ Thanks ; but that’s not likely. Pa would never let 
the horses undertake such a jaunt, I know. But I tell 
you what it is, girls, whenever you come down to the vil- 
lage, you must be sure to call. It will seem almost like 
coming ho7ne, you know, for I am more set than ever on 
pa’s buying it ! And ma will admire to show you all the 
improvements we shall make !” 

Miss Langdon departed, her face wreathed with smiles ; 
the door closed, and the two girls stood and looked at 
each other. 

“ A Parthian dart !” exclaimed Gwin. 

“ I received more than one mortal thrust !” said Betty 
drawing a long breath. “How did I die, Gwin?” 

“ Like a hero ! You gave no sign, and the enemy 
never guessed her triumph !” 

“ That was because you rushed in to the rescue, then, 
and diverted her attention.” 

“ I was ' filled with astonishment,’ to see how well you 
bore it, Betty. It was almost too much for my equanimi- 
ty to think of Lolly Langdon, and her blowsy ' ma,’ and 
her fat, red-faced, chunky * pa ’ putting on the airs of pro- 


prietorship in these dear old rooms. I could see them 
all, and ‘Maria and her husband’ beside, in my mind’s 
eye ; and I hope some one will out-bid Mr. Langdon 
when the tim f e comes ! I should admire to see the state 
of mind Miss Langdon — whom nobody disappoints — 
would be in, at that concatenation of events !” 

“Well !” said Betty, with an effort, “we can’t order 
affairs to happen according to our liking, and there is no 
use in fretting about it ! I must feel a pride in some- 
thing, and so I am going to transplant it to the new 
home as Rose is doing with her violets and lilies !” 

“ Still, one would rather see almost anybody in one’s 
old place, than such a set as the Langdons ! That does 
come hard !” 

“ Yes, it comes hard ! only we are — or ought to be much 
too busy to think about it. Besides,” added Betty with 
a spice of her old pride, “it is not possible to even im- 
agine such a person as Lolly Langdon ever taking our 
places here !” 

With this comforting reflection, and a burst of merry 
laughter over the ludicrous aspect of the whole affair the 
two separated to return to their several duties. But it 
was not long afterward that Betty, wearing a serious look, 
sought out Gwin. 

“ I have been thinking it over,” she said gravely, “and 
I felt that I ought to tell you, Gwin. I was wrong to 
speak as I did, it was from a mean sort of pride, and I 
have no right to indulge it. It was a sort of putting on 
of airs that I always despise in any one else !” 

“ O, you need not apologize to me 1” cried Gwin, who 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


/ 




181 


was in a froward. mood. “I am quite of your first opin- 
ion, Betty, that such a person as Lolly Langdon could 
never take your place here, and fancy ‘ Mrs. L.’ in mam-, 
ma’s !” 

“ Don’t you be a stumbling-block to me, Gwin ! I am 
bad enough already. You must not encourage me in a 
‘haughty spirit.’ This is what I ought to have had said, 
and what I do really mean. The Langdons can never 
take our place with those who truly love us, and what 
place they take with those who do not does not matter to 
us. They are so entirely unlike us that the things which 
would give them pleasure would be nothing to us, so they 
cannot stand in any rivalry with us, and it is impossible 
that we should feel envious toward them.” 

“ Next thing,” groaned Gwin, shaking her head pa- 
thetically, “ you will be for appeasing that tender con- 
science of yours by presenting Lolly with all the family 
portraits ! And, although, as she scientifically remarked, 
people must have grandfathers and grandmothers it is 
quite within the limits of the fine arts that they should 
not be handed down to posterity in oil paintings.” 

“ Laugh away, my dear !” said Betty cheerfully. “If you 
will be so persistently heroic yourself, you must expect 
the other members of your family to be affected by ‘ pro- 
pinquity’ ! But you can’t think how much better I feel 
since I have seen my fault and made my confession !” 

“ O, Bettine,” cried Gwin, hugging her tenderly, “ you 
are too good and lovely for this world !” 

“I suppose so,” said Betty, drily. “ Therefore we are 
going to dwell out of it, henceforth !” 


THE OLD HOUSE 


l82 


Meanwhile Lolly Langdon, strolling slowly down the 
long avenue walk, was thinking, rather spitefully, “What 
a pokey set those girls are ! Queer, too ; I never did 
understand them ! Winifred-ing her to me, too, as if I 
was a stranger ! They are as proud as peacocks, though 
goodness knows what about. I let them see that I felt 
myself to be as good as they are any day. ... I reckon 
what I told them about Maria rather took them down. 
I don’t believe any one of them ever had a beau, and 
Maria’s only sixteen, she says. . . . Poor things, they 
think themselves so superior, and I don’t believe one of 
them ever saw such style as Maria’s pa keeps up. . . . 
They did not seem to mind what I told them about pa’s 
intention of buying the place so very much either. But 
he shall, I’m just determined on that. Won't I sulk 
until he gives in ! . . . Let them wait until they see what 
plenty of money and splendid new furniture will do for it. 
I’ll make ma order a double set of yellow satin and gold 
for the long drawing-room, and, — let me see, pale blue, — 
no, blush rose and silver brocade for Maria’s room. . . . Feel 
‘ above ’ us, indeed ! I should think not ! There won’t be 
much to be proud ol up on that scrubby old farm place 
on Briar Hill. ... I wonder if I could bring ma to con- 
sent to real point lace curtains. She’s so old-fashioned 
about some things. . . . What a ridiculous way of talk- 
ing Gwin has. But some people always will put on the 
most extraordinary airs !” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


I ^3 


XVI. 

A Last Farewell. 

Aunt Pen, rigntly judging that her presence would be 
more of a hinderance than a help in the commotion of 
removal, gave the family her benediction, interrupted by 
spasms of concern about the safe stowage of her medicine 
chest and dressing-case, and departed to resume her 
watch and ward over “ poor Aunt Sylvie.” 

She was one of those blessings that brighten as they 
take their flight, her sincere affliction at her relatives’ 
misfortunes toning down the little lady’s hauteur and re- 
vealing so much real goodness of heart as to awaken 
quite a tender sentiment toward her in Gwin’s forgiving 
breast. Before leaving them, she had the girls come to 
her chamber separately, and talked with them, giving ad- 
vice and parting charges, oddly tinctured with family 
pride and kindly affection, according to her lights. She 
read character keenly, and knew the vulnerable points of 
each to a nicety 

“ I foresee,” she said to Gwin, “ that you will be for 
plunging into the rescue, in some absurd manner. That 
is the way with you helpful, inexperienced people. You 
must needs be doing something, never realizing that you 
may all the while, and with the best intentions, be doing 
infinitely more harm than good. Now, Gwin, your in- 
stinct to be of use is almost certain to make you rush into 


184 


TIIE OLD HOUSE 


something — I should not be in the least surprised — not 
in the least” — said Aunt Pen, with a melancholy shake 
of the head to re-enforce her emphasis — “ to hear that you 
had become a — a — shop-girl. This, my dear, is what I 
particularly wish to warn you against.” 

“ O, Aunt Pen !” exclaimed Gwin, rebelling. “ I 
should be very glad if I knew enough to be one. If I 
could honorably make my own way in the world I should 
have some right, perhaps, to the pride which you say I 
have not.” 

Aunt Pen listened very calmly to the outburst, smiled 
in a slight, superior way at the quality of the pride in 
which, under such circumstances, her grand-niece might 
indulge, and answered with the clever policy of a woman 
of the world : 

“My dear child, you are generous and hot-headed, and 
naturally take narrow and one-sided views.” 

Gwin meekly accepted the truth with a blush. 

“ Had you been born a Hodge, such sentiments would 
have done you credit. But being born a North, my dear, 
there are other responsibilities than earning your bread 
and butter, that you must accept. You think of Roy; 
but you forget Betty and Rose. They have a future, 
Gwin. Be careful how you mar it by any of your Quix- 
otic schemes.” With a glance Miss Penelope saw how 
her deliberate, emphatic words had struck home, and she 
added, graciously : “ But it isn’t a question of necessity 
with you, my child ; for remember, whenever you wish to 
relieve Roy of his burden, you have a home with Aunt 
Sylvie and me. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


185 


Betty gleefully epitomized Aunt Pen’s parting charge to 
her in this fashion : 

“ I am to- improve my mind, take heed concerning my 
manners, and be careful of my complexion, against the 
time when my Prince shall come riding by.” 

So they found it wisdom to make merry over every 
event, and not pause to think how wofully the chance of 
a Prince riding by was lessened by the fate which sent 
them to live remote from the highways on which such 
cavaliers pass. 

As soon as Aunt Pen was gone the bustle began in 
earnest. 

‘ What a good thing it is for me,” said Betty, cheer- 
fully, “ that all this ‘ post-haste and • rummage ’ is inevi- 
table. I don’t have time to think how sorry I am, and 
when night comes I am too tired for anything but sleep.” 

“ Good honest work is grief’s best antidote,” said Mrs. 
North. 

Very soon came the day when the first cart-loads of 
furniture were to be sent off. 

The house began to have a dismantled and unfamiliar 
look, and Betty realized the truth of what Percy had once 
said, that with the old furniture taken away, the rooms 
would look as if they belonged to some one else’s house. 
The dread of that pain had been keener than the pain it- 
self, but what the latter was to her Betty never revealed. 
All that there was of the heroic in her came to help her 
face the trouble, and was helmet and buckler to her in 
those last days. No one knew how often .she had to tell 
herself, 


1 86 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ But we are carrying all the best of home with us.” 

Gwin’s eyes, quickened by love, saw that brave, smil- 
ing front with which Betty met the dismantling of room 
after room, and she said, with a laugh and a sob patheti- 
cally intermingled in her voice, 

“ Dear Bettine is singing hymns over our wreck.” 

Two days before the final removal, Betty was left to 
care for Percy and Rose, while Gwin and Rhoda went up 
to the new house with Mrs. North, to assist in settling 
the rooms which they should need^t the outset. Percy’s 
comfort was first to be considered, but she begged that 
they would do as little as possible. 

“ It will be so delightful,” she urged, “ to assist at the 
hanging of the pictures, and the general arrangement of 
the chairs and tables.” 

“You will have neither eyes nor leisure for such hum- 
drum proceedings as placing the chairs, when once you 
get there ! ” announced Gwin, fresh from her first visit 
to the hills. “ You will be so absorbed, Percy, in viewing 
the landscape o’er, that we need not expect the benefit of 
your advice.” 

“Is it really so pleasant up there, Gwin ? ” asked Persis 
and Betty in anxious chorus. 

But Gwin was provokingly non-committal as if her 
dancing eyes and dimpling smiles had not already be- 
trayed her views of the subject ; and all the answer she 
would give was : 

“ O, you will see ! Tastes differ. Wait and judge for 
yourselves.” 


OX BRIAR HILL. 


>87 


“ Is it a tumble-down, old farm-house, or an inconven- 
ient, well-to-do, white, packing-box affair?” persisted 
Betty, who had about an equal horror of the poverty- 
stricken appearance of the former, and the smug up- 
startishness of the latter. 

“Well,” said Gwin, affecting to ponder over the ques- 
tion, “ it might have been — perhaps — what one might call 
a picturesque ruin, before the carpenters got hold of it, 
and spoiled its pretensions in that line. It isn’t at all 
well-to-do, though, in appearance, — motives of economy 
forbid that. If it has any beauty, Betty, it is like that of 
the be-patched ladies of I-forget-who’s reign. Roy’s 
improvements reminded me at once of a coach-and-four 
over a court-dame’s eyebrow.” 

“ That isn’t credible. Is there a nice garden about the 
house? ” “ I suppose you might call it a garden if you 

liked. What’s in a name!’’ Gwin answered gravely. 
“ It is a potato-patch, now. I observed a few Jerusalem 
artichokes growing in one corner.” 

“ But in front of the house, you tease ?” 

“ O, in front ? Well, there 

‘ you would it guess 

To be a little wilderness.’ 

I should say that in the season, almost every known 
variety of thistle, and mullein — not to mention burdock 
and cockles — must be in blossom there. It is Briar Hill, 
you know, dear ; and well it deserves its reputation.” 

Rose who had been gardening there with Roy, and 
who had listened with infinite delight to this not over 


THE OLD HOUSE 


1 88 


'delightful picture of the home-to-be, now spoke in a voice 
full of gurgling laughter. 

“You havn’t told about the big frog-pond down back 
of the house, Gwin.” 

Nonsense, Rose-in-Bloom ! What pleasure do you 
think their lofty souls could take in the contemplation of 
a frog-pond ? I am sorry you even mentioned it.” 

Betty sighed involuntarily. She had never dared to 
“ hope for the best ” on Gwin’s cheerful plan, being sure 
that it would turn out only another disappointment. 

“ Well,” she said, “we must take it as it is, ruins, potato- 
patch, briars, and all. By and by we can try to screen 
the ugliness of the house with vines, and overgrow the 
brambles with lilies and roses. I suppose nothing is so 
bad as to be absolutely hopeless — not even Briar Hill 
gardens.” 

But not another question did she ask, and not another 
word would Gwin volunteer on the subject. In fact they 
found little leisure for confabulations in those last hurried, 
unsettled hours. 

And so the day dawned, which was to be, as the sor- 
rowful “ Finis,” written at the end of the first volume of 
their lives. It was Betty’s thought, but Gwin opposed it 
cheerfully. “ That is too funereal, Betty. People must 
have change now and then, or else their lives would get 
stale and musty, I should think. If we havn’t gold galore, 
we are on the road to become rich in experiences. And 
don’t be doleful. Don’t you remember what that clever 
Chispa says ; ‘ Who knows what may happen ? Patience ! 
and shuffle the cards. ’ ” 


ON BRIAR HILL 


189 


It was a busy morning. Cart after cart came empty 
to the door, to be loaded, and corded, and to rumble off 
with the dignified old, mahogany chairs and tables cut- 
ting up extraordinary antics aloft, and thrusting out their 
legs and elbows in all directions. 

In passing through the empty kitchen, the spene of her 
first joust with misfortune, Gwin came upon Rhoda look- 
ing like a dispossessed queen who would have been 
monarch of all she surveyed, if there had been anything 
left to survey. 

“ I suppose your mother will not want me much longer 
now, Winifred ? ” she said, evidently intending a question. 

“ Why, Rhoda, I think the case is not one of ‘ wanting ’ 
but-of-of-can’t have. I suppose you have been wishing 
to go home for a long time — perhaps Mrs. Denham has 
needed you again.” 

“ If you mean can’t have me” said Rhoda, taking up 
that part of Gwin’s remark which it suited her to answer, 
“all I have got to say about it is that if I thought I 
gave satisfaction, I’m sure I’d be glad to keep on with 
you a spell longer. I like it amazin’ up there to the 
Hill. The air is so kind o’ wholesome — and Moose 
Medder is flat and powerful lonesome most times. Be- 
side I am about tired of running around to help wait on 
sick folks. It keeps me unsettled-like, and houses of 
mourning get to be depression to the spirits, when one 
has too much of ’em.” 

“ Why, Rhoda ! do you really mean that you would be 
willing to go on living with us, as you have done ?” 

“ Well, I think it likely I might be willing to stop along 


190 


THE OLD HOUSE 


for awhile, if your mother should conclude that she would 
like to have me. You might speak to her about it, if 
you’d be so good, Winifred.” 

Rhoda’s willingness to continue with them did not dis- 
pose entirely of the question of can’t have, that had pre- 
sented itself to Gwin’s mind, but as she lingered in the 
window, once shaded by the trailing stems of the very 
strawberry geranium that Rhoda was now carefully tying 
up in newspaper wrappings for transportation, she thought 
it all over, and decided that it must be made expedient 
somehow, to keep as one of the family her whose name 
Rose had all unconsciously beautified into Rhododendron. 

“ I never thought I could endure to live out as hired 
help,” Rhoda said, when she made her intentions known 
to Mrs. Denham ; ” until I came to live with real ladies. 
But they know just as well what is due to me, as they 
know what is due to themselves ; and they are just as 
thoughtful of my rights, as they are of their own. A rea- 
sonable being can’t ask no more than that. I did think 
one spell of going to work in a factory, but I am much 
better off where I am. I have grown quite fond of all 
of ’em, and I shall be proper glad if they decide that they 
want me to stay on.” 

Mrs. Denham thought Rhoda would make more money 
by going to work in a factory. 

“ Mebby,” said Rhoda. “ But money ain't everything, 
as I look at it. I hain’t got but one life to live, and I 
mean to get something out on’t, beside dollars and cents. 
Up there I shall have some hours to myself almost every 
day, and there won’t be nobody to boss me around.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


I 9 I 


“That may be true enough,” replied Mrs. Denham, 
“but I will allow I don’t like the idea of your being called 
a servant, Rhody. Folks will talk, you know.” 

“ Let’em,” answered Rhoda with her independent air. 
“ I don’t care what they say, so long’s they stick to the 
truth, I ‘ ain’t going to die to accommodate fits’ as the 
little boy said. What’s more, I’m real attached to Persis, 
and so long’s I can do anything for her, I want to be on 
hand. If folks will talk, they’re pretty likely to make up 
what they don’t know for certain. But you needn’t 
give’em that mossle to roll over their tongues, mother.” 

The last load went ; and after a lunch so hurriedly 
eaten that no one remembered the sad fact that of its be- 
ing the last meal they should ever partake of in the old 
home, the carriages came to convey them to Briar Hill, 
or, as Betty had taken to calling it latterly, The Briars. 

Mrs. York, who was always affectionately thoughtful 
for Percy, had sent over her own easy carriage for the 
invalid’s special use, and after the mattress and pillows 
were comfortably disposed in it, Professor Yorke carried 
Percy out in his own strong arms and drove with her and 
Mrs. North to the new home. 

Roy, Gwin, and Rose, already seated in the other car- 
riage, were waiting for Betty, and wondering a little im-, 
patiently what kept her so long. She had stayed behind 
purposely, and now alone was going slowly through the old 
rooms that already held some hollow, reproachful echoes 
as her footsteps fell lightly on the bare floors, or as one 
by one she closed the doors. 


192 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Slowly and sadly, lingering at each familiar threshold, 
which she might never cross again, she took her silent, 
tearless leave. 

She came down the stairs, passed out at the hall door, 
closed it behind her, and stood for the last time on the 
broad, stone steps, under the- overhanging larches. 

A moment she hesitated, after turning the key in the 
lock, listening to the melancholy echo in the deserted 
halls, with her hand still lingering on the knob. Then, 
having cast a quick glance around her, she stooped, with 
a half-stifled sob upon her lips, and kissed the door. 

That was Betty’s farewell. 


XVII. 

Going Home. 

“ Now don’t let us make a sad procession of it,” urged 
Gwin, who was herself in an April day mood at the last 
moment, and hovering between smiles and tears. “ For, 
after all, it isn’t so very far away ; and we are going home, 
you know.” 

“ I suppose a forest tree feels a little strange and out 
of place, when it is taken up by the roots and transplanted 
to the moisy street,” said Betty with a tremulous smile. 
“You must forgive me if I feel a little shaken, and as if 
my roots were being disturbed, for I have good intentions ; 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


193 


I mean to grow, not wither, in my new place. But you 
are right, we won’t be sad.” 

Roy kindly sought to withdraw their thoughts from 
the grief that occupied them. 

“ I think there is some one trying to attract your atten- 
tion, girls,” he said. 

They were just passing Lolly Langdon’s and that young 
lady was posted, as Gwin was reminded, “ like Sister 
Anne, to see if anybody was coming,” in the parlor win- 
dow, whence she waved her handkerchief, and bowed, 
and kissed her finger-tips with much coquettish grace. 
Roy lifted his hat, and Betty returned the salute with a 
polite bow, while Gwin executed a funny little bob and 
laughingly pretended that she had been on the point of 
getting up something extremely elaborate in the way of 
an acknowledgment, when a little stiff-neckedness un- 
fortunately seized her, and nipped her efforts in the 
bud. 

“ I think you must have had a crick in your pride just 
then,” Betty suggested. 

“ I should think so myself,” answered Gwin, “only you 
know according to aunt Pen I haven’t enough to be 
crickable.” 

“ Isn’t Miss Langdon what you girls call ‘ nice ’ ? ” Roy 
wanted to know. 

“ I can’t answer for girls in general, but as for Betty 
and me, we feel towards her as the man felt who dropped 
into poetry about Doctor Fell ; the reason why we cannot 
tell, but this one thing we know full well, we do not fancy 
Lolly L. ! Now don’t cross-question Roy, for I have no 


*94 


THE OLD HOUSE 



better reason to give you than just — because ! It may not 
be very satisfactory — but it means a great deal.” 

“ What a spot for a picnic ! ” exclaimed Betty. 

They had left the village and the valley. ; already the 
road from its gentle curving ascent had mounted more 
than one abrupt hill, and as Betty spoke, they were roll- 
ing along under the overarching boughs of a pine wood. 
The westering sun shot its quivering, golden lances of 
light obliquely through the dark tasseled branches, and 
danced in broken rays across the road. A faint, sweet 
fragrance of spruce and hemlock scented the soft breeze ; 
the murmur of some mountain brook tumbling in tiny 
cascades and fretting against the rocks that impeded its 
tortuous way, in its eager haste to reach the river, seemed 
to lift a voice of perpetual complaint ; and the stir of the 
evening wind among the plumy boughs filled the air with 
a pleasant silken sound. 

“ How lovely it is here ! ” she added. 

“ Only wait,” cried little Rose whose own impatience 
found it hard to wait. “ There is something nicer than 
this coming pretty soon.” 

Betty discovered what it was that Rose thought ‘ nicer ’ 
than the sweet-scented, golden gloom of the woodland, 
when, a mile higher up the hill, she saw the sun set in a 
splendor of crimson waves like a vast enchanted sea 
breaking on a golden shore, and with dappled, violet 
islands lying in its embrace ; while at their feet all the 
wide valley reposed veiled in rosy light ; the river that 
wound through the low-lying, sedgy meadows glistening 
and flashing like a necklace braided of precious stones, 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


*95 


ruby, amethyst and emerald ; the far-away white cottages, 
and the scattered red and brown farm-houses nestling 
comfortably among the orchards, barns and fields.* and 
here and there, from some green folded hollow of the 
hills, a slender spire rising heavenward, upbearing a cross 
of flame, as the red light touched its burnished emblem 
of faith. 

So they came to their own gate lighted by the sunset 
glory, and saw that its reflection had illuminated all the 
windows looking towards the west with a rich crimson 
flame. 

“ It is almost as if Heaven meant to welcome us to the 
new home,” said Betty reverently. 

“ We will translate it that way,” said Gwin delighted. 
“ What a sumptuous coming home it is ! No grand lady 
of old ever boasted of a more gorgeous retinue of link 
boys than has lighted us ; and now we have a celestial 
illumination by way of a house-warming.” 

“ And this is — Briar Hill ! ” exclaimed Betty, who had 
descended from the carriage, and stood looking around 
her with much interest. 

“Here is the token,” answered Gwin, pointing with the 
tip of her boot to a hardy briar that spread its great, 
prickly rosette, brown from»the winter’s snows, at their 
feet. “ Yonder, beside the fence, is a plantation of Can- 
ada thistles ; in the hollow there, is a patch of nettles that 
have in their prime some very vicious (Characteristics, 
though Rhoda says when the leaves are young, and sting 
less, they make very good greens. Do you see that red 
and brown stemmed vine that sprawls at its own sweet 


will all over the corner of the house, and even clambers 
about the porch ? Well, that is still another kind of briar, 
and full of prickles." 

“ When we get time for out-of-door work," said Betty, 
“we will have these abominations all up by the roots.” 

“ There is the carriage with Percy," Roy announced. 
“ Come girls, let us go in and see that everything is ready 
for her comfort. I am afraid she will be very tired ; but 
I hope she will have strength enough left to enjoy the 
surprise mother and Gwin have been " — 

“ O, Roy ! what a marplot you are ! How could you 
betray us ? ” asked Gwin. 

“ A surprise ? Go on Roy," urged Betty. 

“ I didn’t mean to let it all out,” said Roy penitently. 
“ I was only preparing her mind for the grand develop- 
ment.” 

“ Don’t leave your work half done. I am only partly 
prepared. Who has done what ? ’ " 

“ Why — no great matter. It is not the deed but the 
lovingness of it, that commends it. Gwin and mother 
have been secretly working to make the new home attrac- 
tive to you, Betty, as some little consolation for the change. 
But let us go and get it all over before Percy's turn to be 
astonished comes.” 

Betty submitted, and was conducted up the wide garden 
path to the house. She hardly noticed the trim borders 
she passed, the brown porch which in summer was em- 
bowered with woodbine, the square lobby with its winding 
stairs and paneled walls. 



































































































































































































» ■ 









































ON BRIAR HILL. 


197 


Roy threw open a door, and with a flourish ushered 
her into a charming room, where she was gratefully 
conscious of a sense of warmth and softened light. On 
the hearth, guarded by a low fender of polished brass, a 
cheerful wood fire blazed, the ruddy light of. its flames 
flickering over a fine, snowy India matting that covered 
the floor, and filled the room with its faint, peculiar per- 
fume. 

Towards the west, overlooking the garden, a deep bay- 
window — one of Roy’s improvements — had been thrown 
out to enlarge the otherwise small room, and modernize 
the house. Its recess was filled with the rosy sunset 
glow, and Betty noticed in speechless surprise that one 
of the home ivies had been transferred to a large majolica 
vase, and trained to hide the new paint of th* arch with 
its thickly clustering, glossy leaves. 

Within the recess stood a luxurious, shell-like couch, 
of exquisite form, covered with blue, and heaped with 
soft, tasseled cushions. 

She had barely time to glance with increasing wonder 
at all these things, to utter some broken, indistinct excla- 
mations of pleasure and surprise, when Professor Yorke 
entered, carrying Percy, whom he gently laid among the 
cushions of that fairy couch. 

Immediately there followed a confused impression of 
another door opening, of Mrs. Yorke coming in amidst 
a rustle of soft silks, and kissing them all, and making 
much of Percy in a tender, loving, lingering way that 
brought the tears in a sudden rush to Betty's eyes, and 
made her grope about blindly for Roy’s hand. Its warm. 


198 


THE OLD HOUSE 


strong clasp, closing over her trembling fingers, com* 
forted her, as did his fond whisper in her ear 

“ Darling, you are over worn ; your hands are cold, 
and you are shivering ! ” 

At least he did not see that which she had detected in 
Mrs. Yorke’s tenderness, and perhaps she was simply 
over worn, and notional. So Betty stifled the rising sob, 
and suffered Roy to place her in an easy chair near the 
fire, and coddle her in his kind, brotherly fashion. As he 
sat on a hassock at her feet chafing her little cold hands, 
she heard Percy exclaim with pleased incredulity, “For 
me ! ” and Mrs. Yorke, laughing, gently answered : 

“ Yes, my love, for you. We all have birthdays, you 
know, and poor Archie in his exile pleases himself with 
remembering them. Have you forgotten his old-time 
trick of surprising us with some pleasant device of pres- 
ent or celebration, as they came around ? Well the dear 
fellow has to console himself for his absence from us, as 
best he may ; and this couch was his latest inspiration. 
He came across it in Berlin, and sent me minute directions 
how to have one made. He even ordered the color with 
which it was to be covered ; so you see, my dear, it is 
expressly for you, and although it comes a little after the 
time, because the upholsterer disappointed me, Archie 
begs you will accept it from him as a birthday gift, veith 
his love, and the hope that you will not be a captive to 
it long.” 

Percy leaned back among her cushions, smiling and 
closing her eyes, as if the pleasure and the kind remem- 


/ 




ON BRIAR HILL. I99 


brance that had provided it for her, were almost more 
than she knew how to bear. 

Mrs. Yorke, looking as pleased as possible with the 
success of Archie's gift, turned her attention to the others, 
petted Rose, chatted gayly about the new house, and the 
lovely views its windows commanded, gave them scraps of 
news from Archie’s last journal-letter, teased the girls a 
little in her enchanting way about some mysterious plan 
she had in her mind, which she would not be persuaded to 
divulge on that occasion ; and made a cheerful stir in the 
room, while she hunted for her shawl. 

“ Gwin, you rogue, I believe you have hidden it ! Or 
is it you, Pet Posy ?” 

“ Oh, you will stay and take tea with us ?” urged every 
one in hospitable chorus. 

“ Ah, no, dear girls, not to-night. Don’t persuade me, 
for there are good reasons why I may not stay. Some- 
time, when you are all settled and quite rested, I mean to 
come up and spend a long delightful day with you. But 
now I must go, for I have to finish a letter to Archie to- 
night.” 

She took a tender farewell of Percy, and Roy and the 
others walked with her to the gate where the carriage 
was waiting. 

As she kissed the girls, she asked : 

“ O, by the bye, what am I to put in the postscript. 
Give me a message apiece, so that it shall be to Archie as 
‘a box where sweets compacted lie.’ ” 

“Tell him that if we haven’t exactly gone over to the 


200 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Stilt-stalkings tribe, ” said Gwin, “ we have become like 
that ‘ dear little cherub perched up aloft.’ ” 

“ High, but no longer mighty,” added Betty. 

“ Tell him,” whispered Rose on tip-toe, her red lips 
against Mrs. Yorke’s ear, “ that we have brought his rose 
up here with us — ” 

“ Which one, Blossom ?” 

“ O, not me — the white one ; and planted it under Percy’s 
window, but she isn’t to know until it tells her itself.” 

“A delicious message. I will be- sure to give it word 
for word.” 

“ We could not have had a happier house-warming, if 
we had planned it,” said Gwin, as the two dear friends 
drove away. “ I never hear the Professor’s voice that I 
don’t mind me of a pretty little verse I once read that had 
something about the wine of life in it. I should think 
friendship and love must be the true wine of life. And 
Mrs. Yorke’s smile has some sort of enchantment in it. 
I believe it would beautify even Tadmor of the Desert.” 

“We are to have a gypsy-tea, children,” said Mrs. 
North, when after a few moments of lingering at the gate 
to speculate upon how many greetings and good-byes 
would be spoken there with joy and tears, and to watch 
the lights come and go in the village below, they walked 
slowly back to the house. “Rhoda has been so busy, 
helping to settle our rooms, she has not had any time to 
get her kitchen and closets in order. So you must pre- 
pare for a ‘plain tea’ as the farmers’ wives call it. I 
have been able to find a loaf of bread, the caddy, and the 


ON BRIAR IIILL. 


201 


tea-kettle. But we shall have to boil the water over this 
fire, for there is none yet in the range.” 

“ Let me make a place for it, mother, I have had some 
experience of cooking at camp-fires,” said Roy ; and with 
the aid of the tongs, and at the risk of scorching his face, 
he contrived to draw two logs on which to rest the kettle, 
on each side of a bed of live coals. 

Rose was as good at making necessary and agreeable 
discoveries as a whole Swiss Family Robinson. After 
a brief expedition of exploration, she entered, triumphant- 
ly announcing that she had found a blue jar of damson 
preserves, and it was accordingly opened, but as no on^ 
knew where the glass bowls had been packed, the blue 
jar itself had to serve as fruit dish at that banquet. 

“ Do you happen to have discovered the hiding-place 
of the toasting rack, Rose ?” asked Gwin. “ For here is 
a nice bed of glowing coals, and no reason on earth why 
we shouldn’t have toast with our tea.” 

“Yes, I saw Rhoda unpack it from a barrel, and hang 
it in the pantry, only a little while ago.” 

“ Then bring it to me, pet, and I will brown you a 
lovely slice.” 

The butter was forgotten until the last moment, when 
* a hurried hunt was instituted for it, which however proved 
quite fruitless, as nobody happened to think of searching 
in the wash boiler, and Rhoda could not recollect where 
she had packed the jar. So they had to do without, but 
were speedily reconciled to the deprivation by the happy 
thought that it made it all the more like a real gypsy 
affair. 


202 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ I have heard of such a thing as ‘ apple-butter,’ ” Roy 
remembered. “And why not damson-butter as well?” 

Rose approved highly of so delicious a substitute, and 
growing quite confidential over her milk and water, im- 
parted to the company a vague hope she entertained that 
the butter jar would never be found. It seemed as if no 
proper sit-up-at-table tea was ever half so enjoyable as 
that bivouac-ing around the fire. Percy’s couch was 
rolled up into the half-circle, and under the influence of 
Bohea and jollity she revived from the fatigues of the 
day, and became almost as gay, and quite as cheerful as 
her own strong self. 


XVIII. 

Paul ; A Memory. 

They were all tired enough to linger over the gypsy- 
tea ; and when Rhoda had gathered up and carried out 
the fragments of. the feast, Gwin remained indolently 
coiled on the rug, with Rose lying half-asleep on her lap, 
while Betty leaned against Percy’s pillows serenely enjoy- 
ing the prettiness of her surroundings. 

“ How lovely and dainty this matting is,” she said, feel- 
ing herself like Enid compassed with sweet observances, 
by love. “ I believe I could never half like the place if I 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


203 


had to see those old, faded scrolls and worn out roses 
forever under my feet. Whose pleasant thought was it ?” 

“ Mother and Roy and I plotted the whole thing be- 
tween us,” answered Gwin. “It began with the wall 
paper. Roy came for directions — mother said we ought 
to make everything as rose-colored as possible at the be- 
ginning, and I said let’s decorate it so we can call it the 
Rose-parlor, for I like nice names. And what did Roy 
do but take us literally, and bring out a sample of stark, 
staring pink — vividest of peach-blossom colors ! ” 

“ I had not learned then that rose-colored arrangements 
meant the palest of lusterless French gray, with narrow 
mouldings of dead gold,” Roy exclaimed. 

“ It is lovely ! ” was Betty’s comment. “ Nothing 
could have been in more exquisite taste. How well it 
will set off the picture frames.” 

“ We admired our work extremely,” said Mrs. North, 
“ but we soon found that the delicate freshness of the 
walls made the carpets look dingier than ever. Then 
Gwin came to the rescue, with several pages of quotations 
out of a poem the heroine of which abode in a Swiss 
chalet whose ‘white, little, fragrant apartment,’ muslin- 
curtained, acacia-shaded, was furnished with ‘ fragrant, 
white India matting ’ and flowers.” 

“One couldn’t ask for anything prettier, I am sure,” 
said Gwin. “But once down, the matting joined the 
chorus and was so mutely eloquent against the chairs, 
we had to give in and consider what we could do. And 
Roy to save the idea of rosiness from utter wreck, selected 
that stuff himself.” 


204 


THE OLD HOUSE 


She pointed towards the chairs, the quaint, mahogany 
backs and arms of which were elaborately carved, and 
needed no hiding, and Betty’s eyes brightened as she 
discovered that the defaced cushions, once of richest satin 
damask, but long an eye sore and offense to her, were 
now re-covered with bright worsted chintz, over the white 
ground of which trailed sprays of wild pink roses and 
brown leaves. 

“ It is only pinned on,” said Gwin, “just to add to the 
general effect. Roy has promised to bring some gimp 
and furniture tacks, and we can finish the upholstering as 
soon as we find time for such vanities.” 

“ The Rose-parlor,” repeated Betty, looking around 
her admiringly. “ Well, in my opinion, you could not 
well have found a more charming room, nor a prettier 
name for it.” 

“ Oh, by the bye, we ought to hold a family council 
and give the place a name, too,” said Gwin. “ I think 
there’s a great deal in a name — of satisfaction, if nothing 
else. Can’t somebody propose something neat and ap- 
propriate ? ” 

“ Let us call it the ‘ Delectable Hills,’ ” murmured 
sleepy Rose — with some memories of former enjoyment 
of the Pilgrim’s Progress, mingled with a sense of present 
j happiness, floating dreamily through her mind. 

“ Very good for ‘ our youngest’, ” said the mother. 
“ Only we have not climbed quite high enough for that 
yet. I fear the fogs of the valley will creep up to us here, 
many a day.” 

“Then I propose something rather more humble. 


What do you say to The Hut, Betty ? A nice sort of 
unassuming name to date one’s letters from, isn’t it ? ” 

“ Why, I named it The Briars long ago ; and I don’t 
think we can find a better fit ; for certainly we have come 
through most painful and briary ways to find our home, 
here.” 

“ How are we going to settle it ? ” asked Gwin. 

“ By a majority, of course,” said Roy. 

“ I shall vote for Betty’s choice, only I wish to offer an 
amendment. It is true, what she says about the briars 
that beset our path as we found our way through pain 
and darkness ; but here, on the hill-tops, after all the 
trouble and anxiety, we have found a sweet welcome and 
the hope of brighter days. So I propose,” concluded 
Percy with a smile, “ that in memory of the past, and in 
gratitude for the present, we name our new home Sweet 
Briars.” 

This happy suggestion was received with enthusiastic 
approval, and the mother and Roy were at once requested 
to lift up their voices, and make the vote unanimous. 

“ Then Sweet-Briars, it is ! ” exclaimed Gwin. “ Percy 
thinks, 

‘ If there’s peace to be found in the world, 

The heart that is humble may look for it here ; ’ 

and since we have gone through the mills that grind 
slowly, — the kind of mills that give one red eyes, you 
know ! — we have been, like Uriah Heep and his mother, 

‘ so ’umble,’ — haven’t we, Betty ? ” 

“I am in doubt,” Betty answered with a thoughtful 
smile ; “ if instead' we have not found a better pride.” 


2C 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ I think,” said Roy, “ that the mills Gwin speaks of 
must have been of the kind the farmers use, — fanning mills, 
that separate the good grain from the chaff.” 

“The grain and we have to pass through a deal of 
tribulation, before we are fit for use ! ” observed Gwin 
plaintively. “ Looking back upon all that is past, I do 
wonder how we ever could have borne so much crush- 
ing !” 

“ ‘ Tribulation ! ’ ” repeated Roy. “ That word re- 
minds me of one of the many bits of lore, that poor Hervey 
imparted to me. He was a wonderful fellow, — as bright 
as a diamond, as good as gold, and as true as steel. The 
Class lost half its glory when Paul Hervey died. It seemed 
as if he had read every book worth reading, and remem- 
bered everything he had ever read. There it was, pigeon- 
holed in his memory, ready to lay his hand on at a 
moment’s notice. And there was not any little odd, out- 
of-the-way bit of information one could possibly need, 
that Hervey didn’t * happen ’ to know all about. He 
was as generous as a prince, too, with his treasures of 
/earning, — but not in the least priggish, — and always 
passed it off as if his happening to know was merely a 
lucky accident that could never occur twice, and he was 
a good deal more surprised and pleased at the coincidence 
than any one else. Get Hervey out on a long walk, of a 
summer afternoon, — a thing he most enjoyed, — and just 
show an honest interest in the kind of topics he loved to 
talk about, and he would ramble on in the most delight- 
ful manner, and all unconsciously give one more general 
information in three hours, than one would get in a 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 C7 


fortnight of hard study. W e used to say among ourselves, 
that his talk was like the Duke of Buckingham’s court-, 
suit that scattered seed-pearls as he walked ! . . . Paul 
Hervey was the Sir Philip Sydney of our Class ! ” 

It was pleasant to see Roy warm up, and grow eager 
in generous praises of his friend. But then every one did 
the same when speaking of Paul Hervey, and the members 
of his Class were never so eloquent as when he was the 
theme. 

“ It was good to have known Paul ! ” continued Roy. 
“No one can tell all that his example did for us while 
he was one of us ; — but the memory of his words and 
deeds live after him. All our lives will be the better and 
and nobler for his having lived ! ” 

He paused, lost in half-pleasing, half-melancholy mem- 
ories of his friend. 

After a brief silence, during which he sat gazing into 
the fire, with a faint smile playing over his lips, Betty — 
who, ever since she had first seen that handsome, dark- 
eyed Paul, and listened to Roy and Archie, in their 
frequent and tireless praises of him, had cherished a 
secret reverence for him, and placed him in a shrine with 
her favorite poet and hero for the time being, — Betty 
quietly recalled her brother’s attention to the point from 
which he had wandered. 

“Paul’s death,” she said, “was your ‘tribulation,’ 
Roy. ” 

“ Oh ! ” exclaimed Roy, arousing himself ; “ I was going 
to tell you about that word. It was one among the many 
things Paul talked of, one pleasant autumn afternoon, 


208 


THE OLD HOUSE 


when we had climbed the hills, and were walking in these 
very woods, back of the house. I remember we had 
thrown ourselves on the grass to rest, under a great 
walnut tree, down by the lake ; and every now and then 
the nuts fell pattering through the branches, and. the 
squirrels came running up to carry off the booty as bold 
as if they perfectly understood that no bird or beast had 
anything to fear from Paul Hervey ’s hands. I can’t tell 
just how the subject came up, — but any chance word, or 
common object, was a theme for the pleasantest discourse, 
with him. Oh ! I remember — we had just passed an 
orchard where they were grinding apples in a very rude 
cider press that creaked and groaned as it worked in 
quite a painful semblance of human distress ; and from 
noticing that, Hervey was led to‘ speak of the images that 
the rude implements of labor had supplied to illustrate 
human wrongs and sorrows, — as the * nether mill stone,’ 
to which hardness of heart is likened ; and the tribulum, 
or ancient threshing roller, from which we get our word 
‘ tribulation.’ It reminded him of a bit of verse, he had 
read somewhere among the old poets, and liked ; and he 
repeated it, as we lay there on the grass. Afterward he 
gave me a copy, and though I found we had had it for 
years in the library, Hervey was the first to make me ac- 
quainted with it ; and now that he is gone, I am glad to 
have it in his own writing.” 

Roy took out his pocket-book, and from an inner pocket 
drew forth a small, folded paper from which he read 
aloud to them the following poem : 


ON BRIAR II I L L. 


209 


“ Till from the straw the flail the corn doth beat. 

Until the chaff be purged from the wheat, 

Yea, till the mill the grain in pieces tear, 

The richness of the flour will scarce appear. 

Bo, till men’s persons great afflictions touch, 

If worth be found, their worth is not so much, 

Because, like wheat in straw, they have not yet 
That value which in threshing they may get. 

For till the bruising flails of God’s corrections 
Have threshed out of us our vain affections ; 

Till those corruptions which do misbecome us 
Are by Thy sacred Spirit winnowed from us ; 

Until from us the straw of worldly treasures. 

Till all the dusty chaff of empty pleasures. 

Yea, till His flail upon us He doth lay, 

To thresh the husks of this our flesh away. 

And leave the soul uncovered ; nay, yet more. 

Till God shall make our very spirit poor, 

We shall not up to highest wealth aspire ; 

But then we shall ; and that is my desire.” 

* * * * * * * 

“ Now I call this nice ! " exclaimed Gwin, as Roy folded 
and restored the paper to his pocket-book. “ It has been 
a really impromptu celebration — this coming home,— 
what with the gypsy tea, and Roy’s lecture ; full of pleas- 
antness, not counting the information which I shall never 
forget, for every cider press that I come across in my 
whole future career will remind me of affliction ! Alto- 
gether, I never passed a pleasanter evening in my life." 

“And the poem," said Percy. “That is something 
good to know. It seems to make the day richer just to 
have heard it for the first time. As soon as the library 
is in order, you must bring me the book, Roy, for I want 
to know more of the poet. I am sure he has some help 
for me ! " 


210 


THE O LD HOUSE 


“ And doesn’t it seem, as if — somehow — Paul Hervey 
had been to-night among the best friends who have helped 
to welcome us home? ” added Betty. 

Roy’s glance across at her, with pleasure brightening 
in his eyes and smile, thanked her for that thought better 
than any words. 

The party soon after broke up. 

Mrs. North led the dreamy-eyed Rose away to bed a 
full hour before her usual time; and Percy early an- 
nounced that the drive or the mountain air had made 
•her strangely sleepy; so Roy carried her to her own 
room, which opened out of the Rose-parlor and commu- 
nicated with that in which Rose and the mother slept. 
After Gwin and Betty had made her comfortable among 
her pillows, they ranged around the room examining and 
admiring the pretty way in which it had been fitted up, 
even to the alcoves with arched tops that Roy had de- 
vised in the corners on either side of the window. One 
was to supply the place of a wardrobe ; the other filled 
with triangular shelves was to hold Percy’s favorite books 
and work ; and each, like the doorways and window, was 
curtained with draperies of blue chintz flowered with 
branches of apple blossoms. Betty was right in pro- 
nouncing it “the daintiest nest in the world, and just 
what ‘Percy’s bower’ ought to be.” 

“ It was all Roy’s doing,” Gwin explained. “ He hap- 
pened to hear of Percy saying that she sometimes got 
tired of the same views out of the window, and the same 
old things in the room, since she could never see any- 



ON BRIAR HILL. 


21 I 


thing else, so he planned all this prettiness. He was go- 
ing to have it all his kind of rose color, when Mrs. Yorke 
told him about the blue couch that was being made, so 
he chose this instead, because, he said, Archie had such 
excellent taste, and he would be sure to select the 
prettiest shade.” 

So chatting, the girls turned at length to wish Persis 
good-night and pleasant dreams, and found her breath- 
ing quietly and smiling in her sleep ; whereupon they 
took the very unnecessary caution of carefully tip-toeing 
out of the room. 

The library, now a scene of confusion, with its cases 
full or half-unpacked, and books heaped on the floor, had 
its own peculiar attraction. It was across the hall from 
the parlor, and, being a corner room, had a western win- 
dow and a sash door that opened to the north. 

“ This would do for a tableau of the ruins of the Tower 
of Babel, with all these books in many tongues, lying 
scattered about,” said Gwin. “But it is going to be a 
‘ diamond edition ’ of the pleasantest library in the world. 
See how that briar I showed you, growing all over the 
corner of the house, has woven a net-work of stems 
across the window. I neglected to mention that it is a 
sweet-briar vine ; but only think, in June when it is all in 
blossom how perfumy it will be here. What a place to 
read the poets in, — every page scented with rose leaves ! 
It is better than being ‘laid up in lavender/ and I always 
thought that a very pleasant style of embalming, too ! 
Then, this door opens out on one broad step of stone, 
and from that the green turf— it will be green in a week 


212 


THE OLD HOUSE 


or two, you know — slopes away gently, down to — to 
Rose’s frog-pond.” 

“ That must afford a truly delightful and rural pros- 
pect,” said Betty. “Can’t we have it filled up? At 
least we can curtain the sash part of the door !” 

“You won’t care to do that when you have once seen 
it,” Gwin answered, setting down her candle, and pre- 
paring to unfasten the door. 

“O, never mind,” said Betty, hastily. “I am in no 
hurry to be convinced ! To-morrow will be time 
enough.” 

But Gwin, persisting, undid the bolt, and drew Betty 
out upon the broad stone. 

“ Look !” she said, and pointed to a small shining lake 
in the hollow of the hills, over which hung the newly 
risen moon, silvering all its ripples as the night wind 
sighed across it, ruffling its waters. 

Betty clasped Gwin’s hand, and exclaimed in new 
delight, — 

“ This is loveliest of all ! What sort of fair, enchanted 
land have you brought me to ? I expect to see next a 
troop of fays and fairies, dancing on the green !” 

“ Isn’t it lovely ? And to think that we are going to 
live amongst it, and be intimate with it ! That is the 
lake Roy was speaking of to-night, and I believe I know 
the very tree where he and Paul Hervey sat when they 
had that talk.” 

Up-stairs and down-stairs, and in my lady’s chamber, 
not to mention the closets, they wandered exploring the 
house ; Gwin acting as torch-bearer and guide, and ex- 


ON BRIAR HILL, 


2I 3 


plaining to Betty what changes had been, and what were 
.going to be made. 

Having finished the tour of investigation they returned 
to the room where Roy and the mother were, and 
where Rhoda presently made her appearance to ask if 
Roy would want his breakfast served earlier on account 
of going to town. 

“ Not to-morrow, Rhoda. I shall stay at home, moth- 
er, to help about the heavy things, and to give Rose a 
lift with her gardening.” 

“ I hope you won’t be very much disappointed,” he 
added, “ when I tell you that I find it will be impossible 
for me to come home every night. The distance is too 
great to walk, and there is no sort of regular conveyance. 
Don’t pull a long face, Gwin ; this trial has its useful side, 
for when I don’t have you to spend my evenings with, I 
can devote them to extra work, and time is money.” 

Gwin opened her lips as if to speak, but thought bet- 
ter of it. 

“ Mrs. Yorke saw how it would be, and insisted upon 
my taking possession of Archie’s old room. She was 
kind enough to say that having me there she would not 
miss Archie so much. But I shall come home every 
Saturday night.” 

“ Now we begin to see the beauty of living beyond the 
borders of civilization, as Miss Langdon calls it,” said 
Betty. “ How we shall miss you at night, Roy, and 
when it would be time to go to the gate and watch for 
you.” 


214 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ You’ll be all the more glad to see me when I put in 
an appearance, won’t you, Gwin ?” 

“ Glad enough, Roy ! But this — is — briary /” 


XIX. 

On tlie Heights. 

Gwin and Betty were up bright and early ; the latter 
being eager to get the first glimpse of what she rever- 
ently called “the everlasting hills,” by the changeful, 
opaline light of dawn. 

Back of the house, which was perched on the rim of a 
great, dimpled hollow, the mountains rose, a circle of ma- 
jestic guardians, some of them clothed in the dim purples 
and crimsons of the budding woods ; some, somber with 
the dark verdure of the hemlock and pine, and others 
crowned with gray rocks now softened with tints of rose 
and gold, as the splendor of the rising sun glorified their 
peaks ; while cradled in the hollow at their feet lay the 
sleeping waters of the lake, reflecting the mottled crags, 
the brown boles' and tender foliage of the trees, and the 
light, slowly floating wreaths of morning mist. 

Toilettes could not be rapidly effected, even though of 
the simplest sort, while all that beauty of sky, and wood, 
and hills, lay just outside the window, waiting, yet chang- 
ing every instant. 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


215 


“ I don’t see how we are ever to get dressed,” said Betty, 
reluctantly turning away from the window for the tenth 
time, at least ; “ unless we draw the curtains and barri- 
cade ourselves from the temptation of looking out.” 

“ I look and look, until my eyes are fairly tired and 
aching with the dazzle,” responded Gwin. “ Then I 
shut them and dress in the dark — by my sense of feel- 
ing.” 

“ I can’t flatter you that your process is very success- 
ful, for your collar is pinned all awry, and your dress is 
buttoned up wrong.” 

“ Who cares for such vanities, in the midst of scenes 
like these ?” asked Gwin, loftily. “ I’ve a soul above but- 
tons myself; but, Betty, I do believe you would take 
thought about parting your hair straight if you had just 
discovered the source of the Nile.” 

Betty could not but laugh, for even partings were 
among her pet weaknesses ; but her eyes roved away to 
a certain gorge among the hills, between the cleft peaks 
of which shone glimpses of the sky, and she was moved 
to confess,— 

“You certainly did not draw on your fancy, Gwin — as 
I secretly accused you of doing — when you said that this 
was the sort of place in which artists and poets might 
love to spend a summer’s holiday.” 

They were so early down, in spite of the detentions, 
that breakfast was not ready for them. But they made 
good use of the time, in pursuing investigations that re- 
sulted in a number of pleasant discoveries. 

Passing into the kitchen, that had, with the unsettled 


21 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


chairs and tables, a rather distracted air of not as yet 
being quite at home with itself, they found Rhoda cheer- 
fully contriving a palatable meal, as if she enjoyed the 
prospect of presently mastering all that confusion, and 
reducing the revolted kettles and dishes to order. Such 
a delicious and inviting fragrance of coffee greeted them, 
that Betty was fain to pause by the hearth, on pretense 
of warming her hands, to enjoy it. 

“ Isn’t this a pleasant kitchen, Rhoda ?” Gwin asked, 
stopping to flip the batter, which Rhoda’s art would 
presently transform into golden-brown muffins. 

“ The closets are real handy,” Rhoda admitted ; “ but 
what I think most of is the buttery, — a real, old-fashioned, 
nice buttery ! It’s a pity we ain't going to keep a cow. 
I do like to see shelves full of rows of shining milk-pans, 
and the cream rising rich and yellow.” 

Gwin, giving the wooden spoon a final flap, left the 
batter-bowl, and flitted from window to window. 

“You see it is just as I told you, Betty!” she ex- 
claimed ; “ there is a view at every window.” 

“ Even from the kitchen !” added Betty, following and 
peeping over her shoulder. “ Well, Nature is generous 
here, and it helps me to comprehend what I never could 
understand before, — how anything in the world could 
ever 

1 Give to barrows, trays, and pans, 

Grace and glimmer of romance.’ ” 

“ Come out into the stoop,” said Gwin. “ It is such a 
half-sunshiny, half-shadowy spot, with hop-vines grow- 
ing all over it in summer, combining the useful and the 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 ! 7 


pleasant. It is a place to shell peas or pick over berries, 
and take regular Dutch comfort in.” 

“ Then it ought to command a view of the cabbage- 
patch !” 

“ Well, and so it does, of the whole kitchen garden and 
all the currant bushes.” 

“ You ought to put something over your shoulders,” 
said Rhoda, following them into the stoop with a couple 
of small, gayly-plaided “ rob-roys ” as she called them. 
“ The morning air is pretty keen up here at this time of 
year, though I don’t remember when we have had an 
April so for’ard.” 

The girls — each with a little shawl pinned over her 
head in rustic fashion — strolled down the flagged path to 
the well, attracted by its quaint, brown curb and the 
mossy roof under whose slope revolved the wooden wheel, 
with the chain and rope arrangement to which the buck- 
ets were fastened. One of the latter they lowered with 
a splash into the far-down, shining circle of water, and 
with much tugging drew up again all dripping and over- 
flowing on the moss-grown stones. It was a work of 
time and skill to lift and poise it on the curb, to tilt it just 
enough to get a draught and not a deluge of the sweet, 
cold water. 

In strolling around the house, Betty discovered that 
the lilac buds were already swelling, which, to judge 
from her pleasure in it, one would have thought was 
rather an unusual proceeding on the part of the lilacs. 
Turning a corner, they espied Roy and Rose already hard 


at work, one with a garden-spade, the other with a fire- 
shovel, digging up the flower-borders. 

As they came down the garden path, Roy, pausing to 
rest a moment on his spade, asked in some surprise : 

“ Why, where have you been at this hour to get your 
dresses so drabbled in the dew ?” 

“To the Fountain of Perpetual Youth,” said Gwin, 
saucily, “to get a beauty draught. Ponce de Leon did 
not look in the right place for it. Instead of wasting his 
time in Florida, he should have come at once to Briar 
Hill ; known in modern geography as Sweet-Briars.” 

“You look as if you had taken a. ‘dip.’ ” 

“No,” said Betty, “we contented ourselves with a 
sprinkle.” 

“ By the way, you must be careful what pranks you 
play down by the lake. Small as it is, it is dangerously 
deep, even quite near the shore.” 

“We have been only so far as the well this morning, 
Roy,” Betty explained. “ But we didn’t quite know how 
to manage the pulley, and the bucket, when it came up 
full; was too much for us, and took advantage of our ig- 
norance.” 

At this point, Rhoda appeared around the corner to 
warn them, with a tea-bell accompaniment, that the muf- 
fins were hot and ready to be eaten. 

“ I don’t need a second invitation !” said Roy, at once 
throwing down his spade. “I have the appetite of a 
mountaineer this morning !” 

Even Persis confessed to a belief that something must 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


219 


have happened to the coffee and muffins, for it seemed as 
if they had never tasted so particularly delicious before. 

It was a busy day, what with the beds that were to be 
put up, the carpets to be put down, and the heavy furni- 
ture, bureaus, and book-cases to be set in their places, 
Rose was uneasy at the many demands made upon Roy’s 
time ; she thought the principal and important thing was 
to provide for the violets and lilies being properly domes- 
ticated in the borders, so that they could “ begin to get 
ready to blossom ; ” and as for the house she didn’t care 
a bit about that, because she meant “ to live out of doors, 
all summer long, and only sleep there nights.” 

It was late in the afternoon before Betty and Gwin 
could spare themselves from other things to come down 
and put the finishing touches to the Rose-parlor. 

Persis was reclining on her blue couch in the bay-win- 
dow, — the book they had brought her “for company” 
fallen to the floor, — her face turned toward the far off, pur- 
ple ranges of hills, and the afternoon sunshine wrapping 
her in an amber cloud. 

“ You look like the Fair One with the Golden Locks 
reposing in a pavilion of Cloth of Gold !” exclaimed Betty, 
fondly smoothing her sister’s bright tresses. 

“ Have you been lonely ?” Gwin anxiously inquired. 

“ How can you ask?” Persis lifted her slender hand 
and made an eloquent gesture towards the valley and the 
distant hills. “ With all this grand company to enter- 
tain me, I have had no eyes for even books to-day.” 

“ We have been as busy as bees, reducing chaos to 
comfort, and now we are ready to beautify your bower.” 


220 


THE OLD HOUSE 




“ What are you going to do for it ?” 

“ O, screw up the brackets, hang the pictures, — any- 
thing you may please to order.” 

“ Where will you have * Faith ’ hung ?” 

“ In either of those three panels. I only care to have 
it where I can see it from here when I have need of its 
sermon.” 

“ Shall we mantle or bracket ‘ Una ’ ?” asked Gwin. 

“ Fie !” said Betty. “ She is already mantled in her 
own purity, and it would be a shame to put so much vir- 
tue in a parenthesis !” 

“ Arrange the room as you please, girls ; it is for all 
of us to enjoy. Ah ! that is lovely,” as Betty placed the 
■“ Clytie ” on an ivy-leaf bracket, where the afternoon sun 
shone on her sweet face. 

Roy was called in to drive nails for the pictures, the 
girls sitting on the floor and acting as a committee on 
hanging. 

“ What are you doing to do ?” asked Gwin, as Betty 
mounted the step-ladder with the globe in which gold- 
fish had long ceased to disport themselves. 

“ Hang up a rainbow ! Why shouldn’t we have one 
as well as Niagara? Does anybody know where the 
screw-driver is ?” 

Nobody did ; and a search ensued in which Gwin 
joined until a flash of inspiration caused her to stop and 
ask : 

“ Can anything temporary be done with a corkscrew?” 
which instrument, after some fumbling in her pocket, she 
triumphantly produced and offered to Betty, who, with- 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


321 


out taking it, sat down beside her “ rainbow ” and looked 
aggrieved. 

“ What unheard of oddity will you perpetrate next, I 
wonder, Gwin?” she exclaimed. 

“Now/” expostulated Gwin, pathetically; “don’t 
throw cold water on my inspiration, Betty ! If you only 
knew the whole history of my corkscrew experience you 
wouldn’t have the heart to blight me. When I was a 
small trifle of a child — but not too little to be on fire with 
an ambition to distinguish myself by being always ready to 
fill up gaps, and do the things that everybody needed and 
nobody else had prepared for, — I read a story, a ‘ proper 
nice one,’ in which there was a wonderful young woman, 
who was the wife of a sickly creature — a curate, I be- 
lieve. They were always traveling about for his health, 
and every little while it was necessary for him to have a 
biscuit and a glass of wine. On account of being ‘ weak- 
ly,’ I suppose. I don’t remember the story very dis- 
tinctly, but this part of it made a lasting impression, and 
accounts for the corkscrew. They came back from 
somewhere, and went down to somewhere else to settle 
in his parish ; and there were lots of packing-cases and 
confusion, and in the midst of everything he wanted his 
biscuit and wine according to custom. So somebody 
brought on the grub, and the flask, and the wine-glass — 
all the stage properties — when lo ! a dilemma arose. 
How was he to get the bottle uncorked ? I suppose he 
must have been too feeble to knock the top off, or else he 
hadn’t the invention to think of it, and ‘ the action ’ 
would have stopped short, only the young wife, always 


222 


THE OLD HOUSE 


thoughtful, produced from her pocket a corkscrew, which 
she must have brought all the way from London for that 
very emergency. Virtue triumphed, and she was im- 
mensely applauded by everybody present. Oh !” added 
Gwin, plaintively, “if you could but know what I have 
undergone for years, carrying corkscrews about in my 
pockets, and vainly waiting for the moment to come 
when one might be wanted, you would not laugh so ! 
Far from it !” 

Gwin plunged the corkscrew of her affliction deep into 
her pocket, started, uttered an exclamation of intense 
surprise, and drew forth from it the long lost screw- 
driver. If she did not thereupon receive the “immense 
applause ” that was given her heroine, her heart was sat- 
isfied, for the sudden appearance of the screw-driver was 
greeted with a chorus of merry laughter, and she de- 
clared it did just as well, — if anything, better — as a trib- 
ute to her genius.” 

It was in the restful hour of twilight, after tea, when 
they were all together, that Betty exclaimed : 

“ How tiresome your cough must be, mother, dear ? 
It doesn’t seem to get any better, either ; does it ?” 

“ No,” said Percy ; “ it is worse, only mother won’t 
speak of it, for fear of alarming us. But it seems to me 
that she is coughing all night long.” 

“ Ought it not to be attended to, mother ?” asked Roy. 
“ I will ask the doctor to call to-morrow, if you wish.” 

Mrs. North had taken cold on the day of their father’s 
funeral, and a little, wearisome cough had troubled her 
ever since, and worn her quite thin and pale. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


223 


“ It is tiresome,” she admitted, “but nothing for us to 
need worry about, I hope.” 

“ But it does worry me, mother. And I am sure that 
you suffer a good deal of pain. ” 

“ Sometimes ; but I hope to be better soon.” 

“ And you have never said a word !” cried Betty. 
“ Oh, mother, how patient you always are. When did 
you learn the lesson ?” 

“ I think I must have been acquiring it all my life. As 
I look back over the years, I can see its teachings every- 
where — in almost every event.” 

“ Weren’t you ever happy, mother ?” 

“Why, my darling, yes. I have been happy always.” 

“ What — with such a forlorn lesson to learn ?” 

“ Oh, my child ! You forget the good things that I 
knew were surely true and unchangeable. You forget that 
there were always some great blessings that I had to be 
thankful for, even in the hardest, darkest hours. If one 
wants to be grateful, one is never destitute of some cause 
for gratitude. Then, my dear, early in my life I became 
willing to learn ; and it is only the unwilling scholar who 
plays truant and shirks his task, who is really discon- 
tented and unhappy. And if I took the lessons given to 
me, as being intended for my own best good, how could 
I murmur and rebel ?” 

“ It is a gift; and some people are born with it !” ex- 
claimed Betty, with a slight, graceful gesture of despair. 

“ No indeed, Betty. I remember quite well- learning 
the alphabet of patience, when I was a very little girl, 
and what a vexatious business I found it.” 



It is not much of a story to tell, but at the time it was 
a grievous experience to bear. I was to have a new 
dress for summer — a thing that did not happen every 
season, as I was the youngest in those days, and a great 
.many * made over ’ garments fell to my share. It was to 
be a white F rench cambric, with a delicate pattern of 
brown sea-weed and red coral, like a lovely sample my 
cousin — who lived in a distant city — had sent in a letter 
to my mother. 

“To my great joy, my mother ordered it to be bought and 
kept for me, until a certain merchant of our village should 
make his annual trip to town. He was to bring it home, 
because it was not very safe to have a package sent so 
far, there being no express. How I counted the days 
until he should go ! But it happened that this gentle- 
man had a large family, and as the day I waited for ap- 
proached, one after another of the children were taken 
ill, one or two of them dying, so that he did not go to 
town that year until the last of August ; and in conse- 
quence I had to wait until the next summer before I 
could wear my pretty dress. That was a hard lesson 
and a long one. 

“ In that same package came a book, a present to me 
from an old bachelor uncle of my mother. As you may 
suppose, he had no great skill in selecting books to please 
children, -and there were very few books of that kind 
either, when I was a little girl. This one was particular- 
ly dull and dry. Yet I would sit and listen patiently to 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 5 


page after page of sentences above my comprehension — I 
was too young to be able to read it for myself and to skip 
the dullest parts — because in the last chapter there was 
a description of a school celebration in which the good, 
truthful girl of the story came out triumphant over her 
enemy and accuser, the bad little girl who told lies ; and 
there was a bower built of evergreen boughs and trimmed 
with festoons of gold and silver paper roses ; and a feast 
at which every one was very good, and very proper, and 
exceedingly dull. However, assisted by my imagination, 
I suppose I enjoyed that last scene on the fiftieth read- 
ing as much as you children ever enjoyed your books 
of beautiful legends and poems. It had one little, old- 
fashioned wood-cut of the bower scene that used to make 
me happy for hours.” 

“ Darling mother ! it makes me miserable to think that 
you weren’t permitted to have a better time when you 
were a child,” sighed Betty. 

“ Why I thought I was having a very good time. I 
was as fond of my bits of broken crockery, and my play- 
house under the apple-tree, as you were of your china set 
and doll’s palace completely furnished. My troubles were 
good for me, I have no doubt. You have read your fairy 
tales to small purpose, my love, if you don’t remember 
that all the hardships and mishaps which the poor little 
Goose-girl had to encounter and overcome, brought out 
her best qualities, and fitted her to deserve the happiness, 
and the splendor, and the prince’s love, to which she 
came at last.” 


THE OLD HOUSE 


2 26 


“ The moral !” exclaimed Betty, laughing. “ Can you 
interpret it, Gwin ?” 

“ It is easy enough. Mother as good as said that 

Lives of Goose-girls should remind us 
We can make our lives sublime.” 


XX. 

“Coming to Rights.” 

It was a trial to part with Roy on the following morn- 
ing, since they must not look for his return at night. 

In spite of her best efforts to accept the situation cheer- 
fully, Gwin was a little “low” in her spirits, as having 
said good-bye at the gate, she waited to watch him down 
the hill until the bend of the road should hide him from 
her sight. It was some comfort that a farm wagon over- 
took him, and the driver, in kindly country fashion, offered 
him a lift, which Roy accepted, looking back from his 
perch to give her a reassuring wave of his hand. Still, 
it was not enough to wind her up and keep her going 
merrily. She surprised frequent long sighs, and one or 
two threatened relapses to the verge of pensive melan- 
choly, and felt impelled to take herself into a corner, and 
expostulate with such waywardness. 

“ Now, Winifred ” — that name associated with aunt 
Pen's lectures, she assumed as a pen-ance, which pleas* 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


22 7 


antry did much to restore her better mood — “ this won’t 
do. I wouldn’t give much for the people who always 
preach, but can’t practice. You’re not living up to your 
belief, my girl. When affairs don’t go to suit, think of 
something pleasant, and do something useful ; that’s your 
motto. Cheer up, for all things — Saturdays included — 
come round to him who will but wait. And remember, — 

4 A merry heart goes all the day. 

But a sad one tires in a mile-a.’ ” 

Softly singing this roundelay, Gwin cast about her for 
the helpful thing to do, and found a field for her talents 
in the kitchen. 

Rhoda’s premises were yet much at odds with their 
belongings, the necessary house-work having left her little 
time for getting * to rights.’ 

“ I’ll be cook to-day,” Gwin volunteered, “ and give 
you a chance to assign the skillets and porringers to their 
several nails. What are we to have for dinner? ” 

“ Your mother says we shall have to do with picked-up 
meals till we get unpacked, and find our things.” 

“ All right. I’ll rummage and see what I can pick-up 
out of these paper parcels.” 

First among the availablescame to light a reminiscence 
of a dried cod, which Gwin pronounced just the thing for 
a hard-scrabble dinner. 

“ I can’t spare you no milk,” said Rhoda, from the 
depths of a kettle closet. 

“ Then I must look farther ! . . . I wish we could keep 
a cow ! ” 

“ So do I,” responded Rhoda, heartily. “ I reckon 


228 


THE OLD HOUSE 


’twould pay, too, for most likely it would end by the cow 
keeping us." 

“ Where are we to get milk, now ? ” 

“ I dun’no. What we brought along is most used up. 
You’ll have to see some of the neighbors, and engage it 
reg’lar. Over yonder, to Marigool’s they keep sights of 
cows. You better see Miss Minty to-day, about it.” 

“ Do they sell milk ? ” 

“ Law, me ! plenty of it, and butter, and cheese. Miss 
Minty is/amous for her butter. But, goodness knows 
what she ain’t famous for. The Bible speaks of people 
that have gifts for this, and that, and t’other, but ’pears 
to me, Miss Minty has got a gift for every living thing a 
woman can turn her hand to. She’s a des’put worker, 
and it never gave her no time to get married, I s’pose. 
Anyhow, she ain’t. Lives with her brother, uncle Toby, 
and he’s another — only being a man, he ain’t so awful 
smart as she is." 

“I’ll go over," said Gwin, much attracted towards 
Miss Minty. 

“ Then she fished up a package which proved to contain 
dried corn, and beans. “ There’s succotash, anyway. 
Potatoes ; bacon, and — what else, Rhoda ? ” 

“ Greens, if we could get ’em." 

“Which we can’t. No matter: we will poach some 
eggs, and if it is a queer combination, so much the better 
for a picked-up dinner. Here’s the oatmeal. I’ll make 
some bannocks.” 

“ What are bang-ups ? " asked Rhoda, emerging from 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


229 


the closet in a crocky state, with soot streaking her 
nose, and curiosity in her lifted eyebrows. 

Between fits of laughter, Gwin contrived to explain 
that they were a Scottish cake, composed of oatmeal, 
seasoned with salt, moistened with warm water, rolled 
thin, and browned in a slow oven. 

“ Mussy ! ” exclaimed Rhoda with a sniff of contempt. 
“ I should think such a dish as that would make you cry 
instid o’ laugh, if you’d got to eat it ! ” 

“ They are said to be nice, and very popular in Scot- 
land,” said Gwin, defending the cakes she believed in. 

“ Mebby ! ” answered Rhoda with undisguised distrust 
of such a mess. 

But Gwin, undaunted, tucked up her sleeves, and 
squared her dimpled elbows at the task. Very methodic- 
ally she prepared the various dishes she meant to serve, 
until she was barricaded by an ominous array of plates 
and pipkins. Then she went at the bannocks, intending 
to mix, roll, and bake them in the intervals of dinner 
getting. It befell her ambition, however, to make some 
disheartening misses, as well as a few messes ; and her 
dinner turned out a poor affair of over-done bacon, and 
no succotash at all, though there was a hopeful prospect 
of it being cooked in time for the succeeding meal. As 
for the bannocks, Gwin’s hands stuck in the bowl at first, 
as if it had been a miniature Slough of Despond ; and after 
the sticky mass had been reduced to a cohesive state with 
its own particles by a plentiful addition of flour, it be- 
came so stiff as to be impracticable for rolling pin and 
cooky cutter. When the tough, gray cakes came out 


230 


THE OLD HOUSE 


of the oven, Rhoda looked, smelt, tasted, had Tier laugh, 
and exclaimed : “ So them’s bang-ups, be they ? I should 
think so ! Well — I never ! ” 

“ Nor I !” cried Gwin. “ And I shan’t again ! It 
isn’t a good receipt. I thought you said it wasn’t a laugh- 
ing matter. Where is the milk-can ? I am going to see 
Miss Marigold.” 

At dinner Gwin had diverted criticism from her cook- 
ery, by introducing “the Marigools ” to the attention of 
the family, and obtaining permission to settle the milk 
question with Miss Minty. 

With a sense of relief and rest she left the scene of her 
failures and strolled leisurely across the fields in the 
direction of a stone chimney that rose above a cluster of 
trees. Her thoughts were very busy as she walked. 
She decided that she was not one of the much-gifted peo- 
ple, like Miss Minty, and that porridge was certainly not 
in her line, since something was sure to burn when she 
had many irons 071 the fire. 

“ Specialty is the thing for me,” she resolved. And I 
must look around and find it, and devote myself to it. 
I wish it would turn up of itself, though, and save 
bother.” 

The foot-path rounded the clump of trees, and zig- 
zagged past the corner of a spacious farm-yard, under 
whose roomy sheds, beautiful, sleek cattle with fragrant 
breath, and mother-fied eyes, were grouped contentedly ; 
through a little gate ; up a wide, turfy yard sheltered by 
surrounding barns, embowered — in their season — with 
ancient apple trees of gnarled and discursive branches ; 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


231 


on one hand a fountain trickling into a brimming trough ; 
on the other a long hedge of currant bushes separating 
it from the garden ; and stopped at a deep porch where- 
in rows of milk-pans, painfully bright, glittered in the 
sun. 

At her tap the door opened briskly ; a plump woman, 
with a rosy countenance, keen blue eyes, and an up-and- 
doing air, nodded at her, and smiled inquiringly. 

Smiling back, Gwin asked to see Miss Marigold. 

“I’m her. Step right in,” said Miss Minty. 

Gwin introduced herself, simply explaining that they 
had just moved up to Briar Hill. 

“To be sure,” said Miss Minty, heartily. “ I knew 
you was coming. Meant to go over and see your folks 
when you’d had time to get settled. Sit down. I’m glad 
to see you.” 

“ Thank you. I hope you will come to see us.” 

“Oh, I shell, certin. How’s the folks,? Pretty 
well ? ” 

“I wish I could say so,” Gwin answered with a wist- 
ful look. “But I can’t. My mother has a cough that 
worries us a good deal.” 

“ Sho ! ” exclaimed Miss Minty, laying down the sock 
she was heeling, and smoothing her black alpaca apron 
with her plump hands, as she beamed cheerily at Gwin. 
“ That’s about the foolishest thing a body can do. Don’t 
never worry about nothing, my dear, for fretting mends 
no bones. Got a cough, has she? Wal, now, a cough 
’s a pesterin’ thing to hev, but ’tain’t a passin’ bell in 
nine cases out of ten, not if you take it in time. Now 


232 


THE OLD HOUSE 


there’s Toby. He haves spells of coughin’ come every 
spring. Fust off, I thought I’d got to lose him. But 
law, it’s ’stonishing what a little grain of sense can do 
in this world. I just went to work with some herbs and 
roots, and made him a cough surrup that took right holt 
and broke it up. I’ll give you a vial on’t to take home 
to your mother ; I call it Madrygory, it’s so sort o’ 
soothin’.” 

Gwin thought privately, that Miss Minty with her cor- 
dial face and bonny ways was a mental 4 Madrygory,' she 
was ‘ so soothin ’ to the feelings ; and the visit had that 
inexplicable pleasantness, which comes of the meeting of 
those who ‘take to each other,’ at once. After satisfying 
her hostess about Percy’s health, Gwin presently explained 
that she had come on a business errand. 

“ So I calculated ! ” observed Miss Minty quietly, with 
a shrewd glance at her visitor’s can. 

Gwin unfolded the nature of her business, and was 
answered : 

“ Certin, you can ; milk, and butter, too. Much as 
you want. So you ain’t goin’ to keep no cow ? ” 

“ I believe it would be too expensive ” — began Gwin, 
but seeing Miss Minty purse up her lips and lift her eye- 
brows, dissentingly, she _ added eagerly, “ Don’t you 
think so, ma’am ? ” 

“Wal, I can’t hardly say. Of course that depends. 
You’ve got plenty of good pastur, and enough mowin’ 
to keep one cow in fodder through the winter. That’ll 
go to waste I reckon, for I s’pose you don’t mean to farm 
it. You could sell the hay, but the pastur won’t rent for 


ON BRIAR II I L, L, 


2 33 


nothing here-about . . . You couldn’t use all the milk a 
good crittur ’d give. Should you make butter ? ” 

“ I’m afraid I couldn’t— and I am the only one who 
would have the time.” Gwin spoke deprecatingly, but 
her eyes brightened over the 'suggestion, and Miss Minty 
took a note of it. 

“ I guess you can do a’most anything you lay your hand 
to,” she said encouragingly. “Come with me, and I’ll 
show you my dairy.” 

Miss Minty led the way into a long, rambling wing, 
placidly opening doors into places full of agreeable curdy 
smells ; displaying a spacious room with cumbersome 
cheese presses in the center, a huge caldron in the corner, 
and curd baskets, hoops of all sizes, and whey tubs adorn- 
? ing the walls ; a smaller room surrounded by tiers of 
shelves on which were ranged cheeses of every hue, from 
the ivory white of the * new milk ’ and the yellow of the 
rich * old cream,’ to that which was mottled, marbled, 
and flavored with sage. Last of all she opened the door 
to a cool, dim, crypt-like apartment, flagged and shelved 
- with .stone, where a stream of water flowed in a narrow 
. channel across the floor, and pans of milk and pots of 
cream awaited the doom which consigned them to the 
interior of a portly, pumkin-colored churn, whose crank 
stood rakishly in the air. 

Miss Minty enjoyed the tribute to her genius which was 
written in Gwin’s face : and, as^a climax, uncovered sundry 
ample stone jars that she might see and smell the store 
of sweet butter that shone as golden as cowslip blossoms 
in their cool depths. Gwin found it beautiful, and said 




234 


THE OLD HOUSE 


so, adding a wish that she might be permitted sometime 
to see how it was made. 

“ So you shall, my dear, and welcome. Help too, if 
you want to. Come over any churning day, and bring a 
can along for some buttermilk. I’ve learned more’n one 
girl to make fust-rate butter, that didn’t look a mite 
brighter than you.” 

A generous measure of milk having been ladled into 
Gwin’s can the two returned to the sitting-room, where, 
with a lingering glance around at the tidy brightness of 
the cozy apartment, with its gay rag-carpet, chintz-cush- 
ioned rocking-chairs and lounge, its wide, sunny windows 
with a tall Jerusalem cherry-tree full of scarlet fruit in one, 
and a budless oleander flanked by bouncing ‘ hyderangys * 
in the other, Gwin prepared to take her leave. 

“ I’ll just walk down to the gate with you,” said Miss 
Minty, who hospitably welcomed the coming, but had no i 
notion of how to speed the parting guest. “ The gate ” 
meant, apparently, the great farm-yard bars, for there 
Miss Minty paused to call over the names of her mild- 
eyed pets as they thronged towards her at the sound of 
her voice, and to point out their numerous beauties. 

“ Star, that one with the pretty mark on her face, is a 
famous milker ; and Dapple — that’s her daughter — ain’t 
she a han’sum crittur ? — is going to be just like her. 
Just see what a pair of horns old Snowball has. Them 
prize steers yonder are her’n. Toby sets the world an’ all 
on ’em. This here, is Daisy — a splendid heifer. But 
old Blossom’s my favorite of ’em all. Father gave me 
her mother, when she was a heifer and I a little girl. I 


always milked her myself, and I was dreadful choice of 
her. Money would’t buy that cow. See that pretty, 
white crittur over there ? That’s one of Blossom’s chil- 
dren. She’s one of a lot that Toby’s sot aside to sell 
off.” 

“ Oh, the lovely beauty ! How can you bear to let 
her go ? ” 

“ Wal, you see we have to sell some on ’em every year. 
I’ve got all I can ’tend to, anyway. So I don’t have 
nothing to do with them that’s to go. I couldn’t give 
’em up, I expect, if I was to milk and pet ’em. It’s the 
same with the chickens,” added Miss Minty, half-laugh- 
ing ; “ they’re so tame I can’t never let none of ’em be 
killed, and when we want ’em for the table we have to 
send to the neighbors. Toby he laughs and declares 
he won’t keep turkeys no way, or he’d never have any 
Thanksgivin' dinner.” 

“ Reluctantly Gwin tore herself away from this Arca- 
dia of cows, and went home to entertain the family with 
an account of Miss Minty, and infect the members with 
her own admiration of that comely and benignant lady. 
She gladly took it upon herself to make two daily visits at 
milking time to the dairy, where, while waiting for her 
small stoup, she took great interest in watching the strain- 
ing of the frothed pails, the skimming of the pans, and 
even followed uncle Toby, on more than one occasion, to 
see him feed the white pigs with great buckets of skimmed 
milk thickened with meal. 

Those plump, funny pigs she never tired of watching, 
whether the young ones crowded and schnooped in the 


23 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


feeding trough, or a portly matron reposed on her clean 
straw amidst a litter of small, pinky, curly-tailed piglings, 
while uncle Toby, who was lame of one leg, and took life | 
easy, leaned over the pen, whittled a stick, and philoso- j 
phized : 

“ There’s lots o’ human natur in pigs,” he noticed. 

“ Look at that critter a-lyin’ on the straw and hevin’ a 
good time on’t. She’ll pull through, and always get her ) 
sheer ’thout any hurry or shove about it. Now see 
this here little consarn a worritin’ and pushin’ to get the 
best place, and never satisfied nuther. An’ that one’s a 
greedy feller, always choking himself in a hurry to grab | 
more’n his sheer ; while this quiet little critter stays in a 
corner and gets all the grub he wants just by boning j 
down to work and not making any fuss about it. I’ve, 
seen plenty of people like all on ’em in my day, ’’concluded | 
uncle Toby, “ And most always it’s the still pig that ’tends j 
to his own bis’ness that gets the most.” 

The brother and sister Marigold entertained a most 
friendly liking for their bright young neighbor, and mani- 
fested it in their own way ; Tobias by instructing her in : 
all manner of farm-work, and confiding to her his views I 
about rotation of crops, hay-tea for calves, and salting 
quince bushes, with frequent philosophizings over the ; 
pig-sty ; Araminta, by teaching her butter making, ; 
giving her vials of “ Madrygory ” and exhibiting to her : 
the great work of art — a “ rising sun ” bed-quilt that glo- | 
rifled the best chamber. 

Rose also— who delighted in “going for milk” with j 
Gwin, or instead of her — soon became a prime favorite j 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


237 


with the pair, and many a nut-cake man with black cur- 
rant features did Miss Minty fry for her, while uncle Toby 
told her riddles, showed her the pigs, and made whole 
octaves of willow whistles for her entertainment. Also, 
because once she tumbled, tore her dress, and spilt her 
milk in climbing the stone wall that parted their fields, 
Uncle Toby constructed an easy stile across it for her. 

Saturday night came duly, and with it, Roy. 

“ Now for a big talk !” declared Gwin, after the joy of 
welcome had subsided, and tea was over. “ Draw up 
around the Council-fire, and please every body take my 
part. I am not going to ask a favor, only to plead for a 
right. I read the other day that each person in a family 
Consumes about a barrel of flour in a year — I think it 
said a barrel — and I know one girl that wears out at 
least two pair of shoes, six pair of stockings, and three 
dresses. I put it at the lowest possible figures. Now I 
demand, petition, and pray for the privilege of being per- 
mitted to pay for my own grub and gear.” 

“ How do you propose to do it ?” asked Roy, much 
amused. 

“ As you do ; in a proper and independent way, by 
earning the money,” said Gwin, promptly. 

Roy shook his head, as if that settled the matter. 

“Mayn’t I, mother ? Do speak for me. You know 
you all think it honorable and commendable for girls to 
support themselves and help their families. I’ve heard 
you say so, often, and often ! I don’t want to be de- 
pendent.” 

“ Oh ! Gwin — ” began Roy, looking hurt. 


238 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Well then — a burden. I hate it, and it will make a 
good-for-nothing of me, I know, for it frets me every 
minute of the day. Now, you admit that it is respectable 
and all that, don’t you ? Then why shouldn't I be use- 
ful?” 

“ Don’t talk or think of it, Gwin dear. I will take care 
of you,” Roy tenderly urged. 

“ Yes — by making a drudge of yourself. A very pretty 
kind of care that will be. Feeding and clothing your 
sister and breaking her heart.” 

“ Well then — what would you do ?” 

“ Say I may — and I’ll soon find something.” 

“ I see no objections,” said Mrs. North. “ Gwin is 
right in thinking it best and happiest to have some work 
in the world. It gives one contentment, self-respect, and 
a right sort of independence, if the work is useful and 
well performed.” 

“ Oh, mother, if you give in, she won’t mind me a 
minute !” expostulated Roy. 

“ No, I shan’t, my dear boy ; and so much the better 
for you. Then I may ?” 

“ I think you may, my little girl.” 

“If you are resolved to leave us after all,” reasoned 
Betty, “ you might as well have gone with Aunt Pen.” 

“ And learned to * be a lady ’ ? So I might. But you 
see, Bettine, I am not going to leave you. I have been 
thinking it over a great deal, ever since that talk with 
aunt Pen. She ordered and exhorted me not to ‘ go into 
trade ’ and ruin your prospects whatever I might do. So 
I must take up a profession, I suppose. How would it 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 39 


do to turn scribe ? I did hope ” — Gwin looked shy and 
turned red — ■ “ Roy might bring me copying to do, and 
I’ve been trying to form my hand.” 

She sheltered her confusion behind the copy-books she 
hastened to display. 

“ This is excellent, Gwin. I’ll see what I can do for 
you,” Roy promised, finding her modest plan quite within 
the limits of reason. “ But mind, I am not sanguine of 
success.” 

Bettine turned the copper-platy leaves thoughtfully. 

“ Gwin is right,” she said. “ I could not think what 
plan her busy brain was brooding, unless it was to cultivate 
the farm — she seems so enraptured with pigs and chick- 
ens. But if she may work, so may I. Try and bring 
enough for both of us, Roy.” 

“ I am afraid the demand will exceed the supply, but 
you may depend upon my using my best efforts. 

“ Now we are ‘ coming to rights,’ said Gwin with ex- 
ceeding satisfaction. “ I have been hankering for some 
work ever since I have seen how Miss Minty goes on. If 
you had denied me the desire of my heart, I verily believe 
I should have gone to braiding rag mats for a living. 
Anything but being a drone !” 

One memorable churning day, not long after the per- 
mission to be useful had been accorded, when Gwin went 
as usual for milk and instruction, she found Miss Minty 
with her right hand bundled up in a sling, and a strong 
smell of arnica pervading the premises. 

“ I’ve managed to strain my wrest, somehow she ex- 
plained, “ and you’ll have to wait on yourself this morn- 


240 


THE OLD HOUSE 


ing, I guess. It’s the pan on the second shelf, next but 
one to the winder ; you’ll see a W chalked on it.” 

Gwin proceeded to the dairy where, as she measured 
out her pint, she noticed the wooden bowl full of butter 
oozing with milk. 

“ Toby finished the churning for me,” said Miss Minty 
coming in, “and now he’s hitchin’ up to go and see if 
Ann Charter can’t come and work it over.” She looked 
wistfully at the great golden lump, -sighed, and added, 
“ I’m sure I dun’no what I shell do, if Ann can’t come, 
and’s like as not she can’t be spared. Her folks is pretty 
busy gettin’ Alviry ready to be married.” 

Gwin knew that uncle Toby was ‘pretty busy,’ too, — 
knew the process of ‘ working over,’ herself — thought 
she could do it, and rather diffidently asked if she might 
not try to help, instead of the more experienced Ann 
Charter. 

“ Why, bless me ! yes : if you can spare the time,” said 
Miss Minty, heartily. “ You can do it every grain as 
well as she could. And I can salt with my left hand. 
Here, Tobyi you can put up the horse. I shan’t need 
Ann Charter ; Gwin is going to take hold and help.” 

Miss Minty was amazingly “ capable ” even in her one- 
handed condition. She instajled Gwin in the dairy with 
the wooden scoop which she used to press out the butter- 
milk, invested her with an enormous crash apron which 
constituted her dairy uniform, put the oaken paddles in a 
bowl of ice cold water, against the moment when the 
mass was to be laid upon the marble slab and spatted 




ON BRIAR HILL, 


24I 


into rolls, and when these preliminaries were attended 
to, stood by to watch, salt, and direct. 

When the last roll was deposited in the stone * crock ’ 
with a white cloth wet in brine duly tucked about it. 
Miss Minty proceeded with her left hand, which had a 
cunning of its own, and a wooden knife, to deftly mould 
a goodly pat which she had reserved, into the semblance 
of a small pine apple with lozenged sides and a tuft of 
small curly leaves a-top. 

“ There,” she said, surveying her work with her head 
on one side. “ That’s your’n. You must take it home, 
and let ’em see what a butter-maker you be. I declare 
.for’t, I’m proud on ye, myself. There ain’t no shirk to 
you — that buttermilk’s worked out as well as I could a 
done it myself. Next time you shall do it all, churn, and 
salt, and everything.” 

“ You do n’t know how proud and set up I was,” Gwin 
wound up her report of the scene, “with Miss Minty 
clapping me, calling me before the curtain, and pelting 
me with bouquets, so to speak. It was quite intoxicating !” 
As they left the dairy, Gwin begged to be allowed to serve 
her friend still farther, and bathe the afflicted wrist be- 
fore going home. 

“ I guess ’twould be as well,” said Miss Minty, and led 
the way to her own room. Within it was a closet stored 
with bunches of dried herbs whose virtues she under- 
stood, having been instructed therein “ by old Tony who 
lives on the mountain, — she’s an old. Indian woman, and 
her fathers, in times back, were what they call medicine- 
men,” — vials full of syrups she had concocted, bundles 






242 


THE OLD HOUSE 


of roots potent as strengthening draughts when properly 
prepared, delicious cordials of clove, wintergreen, and 
cherry brewed by her own hand, jars of rose and lavender 
waters she had extracted from the dried flowers in her 
own still-room, and a curious assortment of wholesome 
seeds and barks, beginning with flax and ending with 
“ sasafarilly.” F rom this closet she brought forth a migh- 
ty flask of arnica also prepared by her own skill, whose 
history, from the expedition to gather the plant under the 
supervision of old Tony, to the corking of the bottle, she 
pleasantly related, while Gwin bathed and chafed the 
swollen member. 

It was with mutual satisfaction that the one talked 
and the other listened, for Gwin had a natural bent 
towards all these housewifely arts, with a keen apprecia- 
tion of the poetic side of pastoral life, that made Penelope, 
“ piling up the fragrant loaves, ” to her thinking, quite as 
queenly and far more picturesque than when weaving her 
deceitful and worthless web ; and Miss Minty loved to 
impart the innocent mysteries of her craft, the lesson of 
her experience, and the excellent receipts handed down 
from her grandmother, to one so bright and eager to 
learn. 

The bandages being replaced, Miss Minty opened a 
japanned box that stood on her walnut-tree chest of 
drawers and took from it a coin which she gave to Gwin, 
with the remark : 

“ Them that helps with the work oughter share the 
profit. That’s my mind, and I shan’t never be quite 
satisfied till that’s the rule everybody goes on — for women 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 43 


particular. It’s my rule, any way, ’cause it’s only fair. 
I reckon that’s the first quarter you ever earned, ain’t it 
now ? Wal, I’m kinder glad, somehow, that you earned 
it from me — and I’m going to give you a lucky bone to 
go with it. You must keep it in your purse. They say 
it draws money.” 

Gwin felt that she could not refuse to be paid after 
that, since Miss Minty made it a matter of pleasure as 
well as principle, so with the old Spanish coin in her 
pocket, the milk-can on her arm, and in her hand her 
butter “ in a lordly dish ” of old-fashioned willow pattern, 
she returned to her family, bringing her sheaves with 
her. 


XXI. 

A Birthday and a Half. 

Rose held a secret conference with Rhoda that night, 
behind the kitchen door which resulted in the little girl 
being awakened in a mysteriously quiet manner at early 
dawn, slipping out of her curtained nest beside her mother’s 
bed, and, with her arms overflowing with her garments, 
stealing away on bare feet to be dressed in the parlor. 

“Now don’t ring, will you please, Rhodadendron, un- 
til I am ready?” 


244 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“No, indeed, I won’t. I’ll be as still as mice, till you . 
come and tell me.” 

Rose ran away to the garden where with loving care 
she arranged four tiny nosegays of the few spring blos- 
soms that were yet in bloom which she carried to the 
bedsides of her mother and sisters, and laid upon their 
pillows, with the sedate importance due to such an occa- 
sion, until she came to where Gwin slept, her bonny hair 
all a-tangle, her cheeks prettily flushed, looking “ so 
sweet ” Rose could not resist the temptation to vary the 
performance. 

Gwin was conscious of something soft, sweet, and dewy 
brushing her nose, and awoke to find at the tip of it a 
bunch of wet violets, and bending above her a bright face 
with two blue laughing eyes. 

“Mischief ! I ’ll pay you !” 

“ Do !” cried Rose. “ It ’s My Birthday !” 

“ Then you must be whipped, and we had better do it 
at once. There is no use in putting these things off!” 
said Gwin jumping up ; and a great frolic ensued between 
the would-be catcher, and the would-n’t-be caught. 

Every one felt that Rose’s festival must be duly honored, 
and the darling made as happy as possible. In the press 
of other affairs no presents had been provided, but love 
finds always some way whereby to gladden the heart of 
the loved, and out of their own treasures each brought 
some little gift. Percy had a dainty basket which long 
ago, on a May morning, had been hung at her door full 
of arbutus blossoms with the dew still heavy on their 
waxen petals. Archie had tramped miles over the hills 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 45 


to get the flowers of which the last May-day wreath she 
had ever worn was twined. Betty furnished the basket 
with a white satin pincushion on which, that very day, 
she painted a pink rose half-blown, encircled with a 
wreath of forget-me-nots ; Gwin with her little outgrown 
thimble in an ivory egg-case, and two carved bobbins 
full of red and orange silk ; and the mother added the 
last feather to her happiness, Rose thought, by giving her 
a tiny pair of gilt scissors with mother-of-pearl handles. 

Rhoda not to be left out of the celebration made a fine 
large cake nicely iced, with something which was intended 
to suggest a sugar rose reposing on the center ; and the 
little girl, rich in her new possessions, firmly believed that 
no child in all the world — not even a princess — not even 
a girl with a fairy godmother — was so happy as she. 

“ Then you have got everything the little heart could 
wish for?" asked Betty. “Fortunate little girl! Make 
the most of it. It won’t happen too often.” 

“Everything but one,” said Rose. “I do wish Roy 
could know, and come to-night. I want him to see my 
things, and have some of my cake.” 

“ I wish there was any way to get word to him,” said 
Betty. 

There was no way, and as no one expected to see him 
until Saturday, it was a pleasant surprise when he came 
singing up the walk, that very evening. 

It was like the return of the Prodigal Son, they made 
such rejoicings over him. 

“ There ’s no fatted calf to kill, Roy,” said Betty, “ but 
Rhoda has surpassed herself in the waffles she is making 


246 


THE OLD HOUSE 


in your honor. Rose’s cake graces the center of the 
festive board, and Gwin’s butter-pat, which was ‘ saving 
up ’ for Saturday, is brought forth to the sacrifice, and 
now we shall be able to test it.” 

“ Yes, Roy, there ’s a specimen of my handiwork,” said 
Gwin, beaming. “ Miss Minty says she is proud of me, 
and I’ve earned my first quarter. Actually ! Cash down J 
Think of that !” 

“ But what does it mean, your taking us so by sur- 
prise, Roy ?” 

“ I have brought you news. The old place is sold, 
and there was a lively time over the bids, for a gentleman 
from the West, coming here to educate his sons, was so 
anxious to buy it, 'he ran the price quite up to its real 
value.” 

“ That must be ‘ along of’ my lucky bone !” said Gwin. 

“But come — just guess who persisted in outbidding 
him ?” 

“ Mr. Langdon,” said Betty, at once. 

“ Nonsense !” cried Gwin. 

“ It is true !” Roy continued. “ Mr. Langdon is the 
purchaser. He was very much elated, and flourished 
around telling every body he could button-hole, that he 
would have paid as much again, rather than not have 
got it — for he could afford to indulge himself in a whim 
or too, he rather thought. Strangly foolish of him,* of 
course ; but very comfortable for us, is n’t it ?” 

“ It is horrid !” said Gwifi, sorrowful for Betty’s sake. 

“ It had to be given up,” said Betty quietly, “ and I 
suppose it makes no difference to us who is to occupy 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 47 


our old places there. We must not think of it so. Was 
that all that brought you to-night, Roy ?” 

“ No ; not quite. I thought if you could drop senti- 
ment and reflect upon the dollar-and-cent side of the mat- 
ter, you would be glad to know of it. But I was not quite 
easy about you all — I believe I was growing fidgety about 
your cough, mother, — and moreover I did not forget that 
somebody’s birthday had come, and that I wanted to 
bring somebody a kiss, a present, and a wish.” 

Rose was perched upon his knee, and hearing these 
pleasant tidings, she at once began to dive into his 
pockets in search of mysterious parcels, and was re- 
warded by finding one neatly wrapoed in white paper and 
tied with pink string. 

She held it up with an arch, questioning look. 

“ No, Miss, not for you ! Mistaken this time, little 
pickpocket. That is a package of marsh mallows I 
brought for mother’s cough. No, it is of no use to hunt 
there. You will have to look in a certain basket, I know 
of, — and be very careful that what it contains does not 
get away.” 

“ O, me, me ! what can it be ? ’ 

“ Guess,” said Roy, mysteriously. 

Rose guessed a maltese kitten, a pink-eyed rabbit, a 
red and gray parrot, an Italian grayhound, each one 
of which had been, at some period of her life, the object 
of her ardent longing. 

“ Come with me, and I will show you what it is,” said 
Roy ; and he led the way to the barn, whither he was 


248 


THE OLD HOUSE 


followed by Betty and Gwin, as well as the happy ex- 
pectant Rose. 

Having carefully closed the door behind them, Roy 
opened a basket that stood on the floor, and, with a 
whir of snow white wings, a pair of beautiful doves 
soared to the rafters, and then fluttered down to the 
floor. 

Rose, in speechless ecstacy, stood with clasped hands 
watching their every motion, as the pretty creatures 
rustled their feathers, plumed themselves, spread wide 
their fan-like tails, and cooing to each other, pattered 
over the floor on their pink feet, and pecked in the cracks 
for scattered grain. Roy scooped a small measure full 
of oats from the bin, which he gave to Rose, that she 
might have the pleasure of feeding her doves with her 
own hand. 

In the barn-loft were the boxes of an ancient dove cote, 
ready for the new tenants, but Roy advised Rose to keep 
them shut up until they had been fed there for a day or 
two, and learned to feel at home, or they might take 
flight from their little mistress. 

‘ ‘ Here is an idea on which I felicitate myself greatly, 
Gwin, although it is not in the least original Roy 
presently observed, beckoning her to a cage before un- 
noticed, in which a solitary pigeon was imprisoned. 

“ Another dove ? What made you buy him, Roy ? He 
isn’t half so pretty as those darling fan-tails.” 

“ Not beautiful but useful. You see, being away from 
you for so long at a time, I find I get to worrying lest 
anything should happen that you might need me, yet be 


ON BRIAR HILL 




249 


unable to let me know. Therefore I have concluded to 
establish a pigeon-post. What do you think of it ? By 
this means I can hear from you every day — half-a-dozen 
times a day indeed, if it should be necessary, for these 
birds have been known to travel one hundred and eighty 
miles in six hours, so we need not fear to overtax his 
strength. You must establish him in some particylar 
place where you can always be to receive your mail, and 
always feed and pet him there. In a few days he will 
come to consider it home, and after that if any of you 
should be taken ill, or need anything in a hurry, just send 
him to me, with a message under his wing. He must be 
fed with grain, buckwheat or barley, — you can get it of 
uncle Toby, and give him plenty of gravel in his cage.” 

The pigeon-post was a pleasant and comfortable idea 
that found instant favor with every member of the house. 

Then, and not till then did Mrs. North confess that she 
had felt some anxiety at not being able to communicate 
with Roy with any certainty, and that a care would be 
removed from her mind, provided the messenger was 
sure. 

“It looks rather romantic,” said Roy, “and I rather 
expected to be laughed at — though it is sensible too, 
situated as we are.” 

“ It looks as if some one was very kind,” answered Gwin 
with loving emphasis, “ and very thoughtful for our com- 
fort and necessities. And now, my dear boy, emboldened 
by your example, I have got my romantic plan to pro- 
pose.” 

“ Whatever shall we do with you, Gwin, if this goes on 


2 50 


THE OLD HOUSE 


much longer? You and your pkns remind me of the 
old woman’s hen, that 

‘ Laid an egg on every day, 

And Sunday she laid, too.’ ” 

“ Did you bring any copying for me, Roy ?” 

“ No, my dear ; it was not to be had.” 

“ I thought so. Now I can’t be happy to serve in the 
stan d-and- wait way. I’ll do the writing of course when 
it comes, but I must have something else. Unhappy is 
the girl who has but one string to her bow ! I have 
thought, and questioned, and cyphered it all out, and the 
statistics being all in my favor, I make bold to petition 
the family to buy a cow.” 

“ That is a sweetly bucolic notion,” said Roy. “ I sup- 
pose Betty has been telling you how, once upon a time, a 
queen and her maids of honor were fond of getting them- 
selves up in ravishing watteau costumes, and playing 
dairy-maids in rustic chalets over silver pipkins of 
cream.” 

“ Not a word ! Did they ? Nice idea. Now Betty is 
sure to be on my side ! But if it is bucolic, it is business- 
like too. Look at that ?” 

Gwin handed over a paper formidable with rows of 
figures, in which the daily quarts of milk, and weekly 
pounds of butter, the waste of pasturage, and the probable 
profit of their possible hay were elaborately set off 
against the cost of a certain white cow, and the weekly 
hire of a boy to care for the same, Rhoda doing the 
milking, and she herself attending to the dairy-work. 

■ \ . 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


251 


<! What an intricate problem ! How am I to prove 
it ?” 

“ By trying the experiment. But the argument is n’t 
all dollars and cents. Uncle Toby’s experience shows 
that my plan is good economy ; and Miss Minty says 
there’s nothing like new milk, warm from the cow, for 
Percy.” 

That argument told with Roy, more than any other. 

“ Well, little girl, I don’t see why your ambitions should 
not sometimes be realized, just to keep you in spirits. We 
can afford to indulge you now, and if mother finds no 
objections I shall not be the one to say you nay, my 
child.” 

“ Don’t be paternal, Roy. Mother is willing. I can 
see it in her face. So it’s settled. Do let’s go over to 
the Marigolds at once and finish the business. I’ve set 
my heart on our buying that beauty of a little white cow 
that I know Uncle Toby means to sell. She’s just 
weaned from her calf, and a splendid milker, Miss Minty 
says ; and so gentle ! I have fed and petted her every 
day since I fell in love with her, and now she knows me, 
and loos in such a soft, kind way when she hears me 
coming.” 

“ What a discriminating bovine ! Yes, we will go at 
once and conclude the bargain, for I am more than ever 
determined on her becoming one of us.” 

As they walked across the fields together in the twi- 
light Gwin tucked her hand under her brother’s arm 
and grew confidential. 

“It is doing a great deal for me, Roy, protecting my 


THE OLD HOUSE 




252 


idle hands from mischief, and, in fact, setting me up in 
business ; but I don’t mean that the family purse shall 
suffer. In a year and a day, you see, if all goes well, the 
beauty shall pay for herself, and maybe buy another ; 
and then I can send butter to market, and amass gold, 
sir!” 

“ My dear little milkmaid, don’t toss your head. Re- 
member what came of it. Life is uncertain, and cows 
occasionally ‘ run dry.’ ” 

“ She won’t. There is n’t an ungrateful hair in her 
coat. I am going to name her Io. What do you think 
of it?” 

“ Classic, appropriate, and most witty, if one may judge 
from its length.” 

Miss Minty was almost as pleased as Gwin herself 
when the business was unfolded. 

“ Queer how things do come about,” she said. “ Ever 
since I saw how handy Gwin was with the dairy work, 
I ’ve had a des’put fancy to see old Blossom’s heifer be- 
long to her.” 

Uncle Toby’s hired man had a boy who would lead Io 
over to her new quarters the next morning, and, “ I 
think’s likely’s not he ’d be glad of the job of tendin’ on 
her, and doin’ the barn chores,” Uncle Toby suggested. 

The next morning, before Roy was down, the sound of 
pipe and tabor, as he was pleased to call the willow 
whistles on which Rose was performing a roulade, drew 
him to the window to witness a charming scene on the 
grass-plot below. Tim, while leading the cow over, had 
been waylaid at the bars of the little croft, which was 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 53 


henceforth to be her grazing ground, by the girls, who 
welcomed her with many a fond “ cusha,” while Gwin, 
supplanting the boy, fastened a bonny blue ribbon to her 
horns in lieu of the rope halter. The innocent procession 
which conducted the new comer round to Percy’s 'win- 
dow might have been a rite in honor of Isis, for Betty 
propitiated her with an offering of oats and hung a gar- 
land of young leaves about her neck, and Rose performed 
a jubilate with as much spirit as if her pan-pipes were as 
acceptable to the goddess as the tinkle of the sistrum. 

While Roy stood admiring the group, Rhoda appeared 
with the milking-pail, and while she milked the pretty 
creature Rose stroked Io’s satiny nose and gently ad- 
jured her as “ cusha cow bonny,” to be generous with 
her gift. He made haste with his toilet and ran down to 
assist at installing Io just as, with much ceremony, Percy 
was presented with a frothed bumper, and gratefully 
drank “ skoal ” to the beneficent heroine of the hour. 

After breakfast the family had to be paraded through 
the buttery to see “ the first milking,” which Gwin had 
set forth in a variety of cut-glass dessert bowls. 

“ You go in for ‘ lordly dishes,’ don’t you, Gwin ?” 
asked Roy. 

“ When the necessary pans are wanting.” 

“There’s another expense ! Let me see,” mused Roy 
mischievously. “ Was that set down in your ‘ statistics ’ ?” 

“ No ; nor the churn. And I forgot the wooden bowl 
and scoop.” 

“ Perhaps you would like to invest your first earnings 
in tin and wooden-ware?” 


254 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Do n't make fun, Roy. One’s first earnings stand for 
so much !” said Percy. 

“What is to be done with that quarter, Gwin ?” 

“/would put it in the savings box,” said Rose, earn- 
estly. 

“ I would spend it in having a gold link put into the 
lucky bone, and wear it as a charm,” said Betty. 

“ Lay it by for a ‘ nest egg,’ ” Roy advised. 

“Half of it will do for that,” Gwin answered, “and 
with the other half I shall buy me a gorgeous blue and 
white dairy apron.” 

“ And I will make it up in style for you,” Betty prom- 
ised, “ if Roy will bring the stuff the next time he comes.” 

“ I can’t go over of errands any more,” said Rose, re- 
gretfully. “And I do so want to see Uncle Toby and 
the pigs and Miss Minty. Might I carry her a bunch of 
violets, mother ?” 

Receiving permission Rose went away, blythely sing- 
ing, to gather her flowers, and make a morning call. 

Miss Minty, basket in hand, was unfastening the lat- 
ticed door of her poultry-house when her little visitor ap- 
peared at the gate. 

“ Aha ! I guess somebody knew how I should miss a 
little girl that used to come over and see me every morn- 
ing,” she said with that cordial way that was so delight- 
ful. “ And so I do — two of ’em Uncle Toby reckons 
we’d better buy the cow back. What do you think of 
that?” 

Rose was not able to approve of that move. 

“ Wal, yes,” said Uncle Toby from the wagon shed, 




ON BRIAR HILL. 


255 


where he was preparing to “ hitch up the team,” his eyes 
twinkling, his face beaming with a benevolent smile, 
“’Twas kind o’ short-sighted in us to let that cow go, 
warn’t it, Minty ? We’ll have to make some sort of bar- 
gain I reckon. Can’t do ’thfout our reg’lar visit, nohow. 
Gettin’ to be old folks, we be, and must have some young 
comp’ny to chirk us up.” 

Rose’s gay laugh rang out at this. 

“ Oh, we’ll come over. Uncle Toby, every day if you 
like to have us,” she promised. “ I am so glad you do ! 
This morning I was sorry because I had n’t any errand 
to come for, so I made one.” And she held up the vio- 
lets to Miss Minty. 

“My! ain’t they sweet !” said Miss Minty, admiringly. 
“ Gre’t deal sweeter ’n mine. I guess it’s because you 
brought ’em. They ’re the first johnny-jump-ups I ’ve 
seen this year. Should n’t wonder if posies like to live in 
your gardin, they ’re so much more for’ard than in mine. 
I’m much obleeged to you, my dear.” 

“ So ’twas somebody’s birthday yesterday, over to 
your house?” observed Uncle Toby, intent upon tackling 
up. 

“Mine,” said Rose promptly. 

“ Get any presents ?” 

“ Oh ! yes. Such beauties !” And with sparkling eyes 
Rose recounted her treasures. 

“ And which do you like best ?” asked Miss Minty. 

“ Why — ” Rose hesitated, “ I like all my things, but 
I suppose I love the live ones the most.” 

She looked rather anxious over it, however, until Miss 


THE OLD HOUSE 



Minty said “ So should I, I’m sure,” and led her into the 
poultry yardwhere the tame hens flocked and crowded 
about their mistress, even allowing her to stroke and lift 
them upon her lap. 

“ Here Brighty, Brighty,” she called to a beautiful hen 
with bright plumage and a stately black turban who came 
instantly, fluttered to a perch on her knee, ate corn out 
of Rose’s hand, and crooned contentedly as Miss Minty 
smoothed her feathers. “ Did I ever tell you about old 
Brighty, dear ? Well, she’s the laziest hen in the world, 
I do suppose. But she’s a gentle, affectionate critter, 
and can’t be beat as a layer. I hatched her myself, for 
her mother deserted the nest with the rest of the brood 
before Brighty was strong enough to break her shell. I 
felt of the egg, found the chick stirring in a feeble way, 
so I made a bed of soft wool in a basket behind the stove, 
and covered the egg up to keep it warm. Pretty soon I 
heard a faint “peep-peep,” and found the little thing 
struggling to come out of the shell. So I fed and brought 
her up, and put her to bed nights in her basket. As she 
never had to run about and scratch for a livin’ I s’pose 
she grew lazy. She never will fly up to the roost as the 
rest do, but comes and sits on the winder-sill, where my 
chair stands, and if I’m busy and don’t ’tend to her, she 
just pecks away at the glass till I go and carry her out 
and put her up on her roost. In summer, when the 
doors stand open, she walks in reg’lar after dinner, and 
takes a snooze in my lap, and more’n once she’s laid an 
egg there. She’s a splendid layer, old Brighty ! ' 

you know Speckle’s settin’ on fifteen eggs ? It’s al 



ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 57 


time she come off! Don’t you want to go and look at 
her?” 

Rose was only too happy, and to be allowed to hunt 
for eggs and fill the empty basket. While so engaged 
she heard a soft chirp, followed by a motherly cluck, that 
made her peer about with all her eyes, and in the darkest 
corner, behind an old barrel, she discovered the cause, 
and hastened to bring Miss Minty. 

“ Why !” exclaimed that lady, not half so charmed as 
. the discoverer, “ If it ain’t Snowdrop, sure as day ! Oh, 
you foolish thing, to steal a nest ! Why could n’t you 
trust me to let you have it at the best time ? Now, see ! 
only two chickens for all your trouble, you silly Snow- 
drop ! Now you must go into the coop, ma’am.” 

Miss Minty took the hen in her arms, and Rose was 
permitted to cuddle the tiny puff-balls of chickens in her 
warm hands. 

“ How would you like to have ’em for yourself?” asked 
Miss Minty, pleased with the child’s tender delight. 

“ Oh ! Miss Minty.” 

“ Would, hey ? Well, you shall. I s’pose it’s as good 
as if it had cpme yesterday, ain’t it ? You can call it a 
birthday and a half. Tell you what! You can leave 
’em for their mother to look after a spell — they ’ll thrive 
better to have their natural feather-bed to sleep in — and 
you can come over every day and feed ’em, and 'tend to 
their manners. How’ll that answer ?” 

Rose thought it a perfect arrangement, and was 
charmed to find that a new errand had made itself. 

“ Want a ride, Rosy?” shouted Uncle Toby, as they 




258 


THE OLD HOUSE 


reappeared. “Jump right in, and I’ll take you home. 
Have them crocks, ready, Minty, ’gtnst I get back. If 
Roy hain’t started off, he can go down along o’ me, 's 
well ’s not.” 

“ I do n’t think he has. He said he wasn’t in a hurry 
this morning.” 

“ Dap !” chirruped Uncle Toby to the horse. “ Dap, 
old boy! I ain’t in a hurry nuther, this mornin,* but 
there’s a little girl behind here, that’s got a visitor at 
home, and I expect she zs.” 

“ Have / got a visitor, Uncle Toby,” asked Rose, sur- 
prised. 

“ I hearn tell so,” said Uncle Toby with much gravity. 

“ I can’t think who it can be,” pondered Rose. 

“I dun’no the name> myself,” observed Uncle Toby. 
“ You must come over to-morrer a-puppos and le’ me 
know.” 

“Oh, I’ve got to come anyway, to feed my chickens.” 
And Rose proceeded to confide the story of her latest 
happiness to her sympathetic companion. “ I can’t think 
what to name them,” she concluded. “ I never can think 
when I have new dolls. But I don’t know very many 
names. What would you call them ?” 

“ Let me see, I ain’t very good on names myself. 
They’re twins, ain’t they ? Then I s’pose they’d oughter 
sound something alike. I knew of a pair of twins once 
that was named Mary Mariny, and Miry Merany. How 
do you like that ?” 

“ Not very much,” Rose answered politely. “ They are 
funny, I think.” 


ON BR I AR HILL. 


2 5 9 


“ So they be ; and too long for chickens, too. Let’s 
see. What do you say to Trot and Dot ?” 

“Oh, I like them. Trot and Dot. That will be 
beautiful !” 

Rose ran in for Roy, and no sooner was he gone than 
Gwin began dancing around her with a face full of fun 
and mystery. 

“ What do you think !” she began. 

“ Oh, I know — I’ve got a visitor. Who is it ?” breath- 
lessly. 

“ Come, and see.” 

“ Must n’t I smooth my hair first ? Perhaps I had better 
have my dress changed,” Rose suggested. 

“ Oh ! she won’t mind. Though she is all dressed in 
white, herself.” 

Much flurried, Rose followed on into the house, and 
looking around for her guest, met only smiling, mysteri- 
ous faces. 

“ Is she hiding ?” asked Rose, seeing no visitor. 

“Yes,” said Gwin, and as Rose proceeded to look 
behind doors and into corners, she added, “Now you are 
cold, colder, ugh ! freezing ; warmer, warm-er, hot, hot- 
tentot, hottentotest.” 

“ It never occurred to her to look inside the white 
bundle on Betty’s lap, although she always became “ hot- 
tentotest ” when she drew near it, until a faint wail came 
from the flannel folds. Then Rose pounced upon it. 

“ It is a crying doll,” she cried. “ Who sent it ? Is it 
for me ?” 

“No,” said Betty, tenderly uncovering a small face 


260 


THE OED HOUSE 


that looked like a crumpled rose leaf. “ it belongs to one 
Mrs. La Guinga.” 

“ Why, it is alive — it is a baby ! Who is Mrs. La 
Ginger ? May we keep it ?” 

“ Yes — it is Mrs. La Guinga’s little, young baby. She 
is an Italian woman, who lives ‘ in the hollow ;’ she’s very 
poor, and very sick, and the neighbors have taken her 
other five children, and they sent this little thing to 
us.” 

“Aren't you glad? May I help take care of it?” 
asked Rose, eagerly. 

“Yes, you shall warm its food, and hold it when it is 
quiet. It’s a very nice baby, is n’t it ?” 

“ Beautiful !” exclaimed Rose, enchanted with it. 
“ Let’s feed it now.” 

“ Oh, no ; not till mother tells us. It is n’t good to feed 
it too much.” 

“ Let’s get it to sleep then,” urged the young nurse. 

“ But it does n’t want to sleep now, dear.” 

Rose look so disappointed that Gwin proposed going 
to feed the doves, instead. 

“ I shall be so good to that dear, little, pink thing !” 
said Rose as she scattered the grain. “ Gwin — I /ove my 
children, of course — but it is nice to have one’s family 
alive, is n’t it ? So that one can really feed them, and not 
have to make believe ? ” 

“ Yes, dear ; it is a great consolation. If one is an ex- 
perienced cook.” 

“ I shan’t have to cook for my family,” said Rose, re- 
gretfully. 


ON BRIAR HI LL. 26 1 


“ Nor I, any more. It does n’t belong to the dairy- 
work, and I shall stick to the thing I can do, after this. 
1 hope Roy won't forget the pans ! ” 

Roy forgot nothing. Better still, he meant to give 
Gwin everything in his power to make her work easy and 
pleasant. He investigated the subject of butter making, 
and derived from many sources ideas upon which he 
acted, and the results came home at night in Uncle Toby’s 
wagon, in the shape of a labor-saving churn that had 
taken the premiums at Agricultural Fairs, a stone cream- 
pot of attractively antique shape, the marble slab she had 
not dared to ask for, six beautiful glass pans which would 
not cost the care that must daily be given to tin, and a 
merry note from Roy, in which he wrote : — 

“I hope you will be pleased with my efforts to deck 
the shrine of Isis in a befitting manner ; and that her 
priestess may be inspired with the thought that bountiful 
glasses of new milk are good drinking, and Italian creams, 
variously flavored, ‘ excellent fooling ’ in lieu of dessert ; 
also that it would be original and agreeable to have the 
sentiment of gratitude take expression in a lacteal form. 
Apropos, whenever I see the Milky Way, I pine for you 
at home. I wished to send a stamp, but could find 
nothing emblematic enough, except a bas-relief of a 
goat rampant, or rampageous — which is the heraldic term ? 
— and that was so suggestive of a pun, I would none of 
it. But do n’t suppose because I reject the goat I shall 
do injustice to the butter ! I know too well on which 
side my bread is, &c. Roy.” 

“ I think I am the happiest girl !” Gwin exclaimed, 


262 


THE OLD HOUSE 


when her dairy was left in orderly array, and lo had re- 
ceived her good-night visit. Rose was not there to claim 
the precedence, so Gwin remained undisputed. 

“ It is a most cheap and reasonable sort of bliss,” said 
Mrs. North, smiling on her beaming daughter. “ I am 
glad you may have the privilege of being so happy.” 

Betty regarded her sister’s bright face in wistful silence. 

‘“So happy !’ ” she thought. “ And it is being of use 
that does it J” 


XXII. 

“ Good-Night.’* 

Wishing to celebrate, with as much pomp and circum- 
stance as possible, Gwin’s first quarter, Betty devised a 
remarkable pattern for the apron, the edges of which she 
scalloped and bound with scarlet braid. She moreover 
constructed a Normandy cap of white lawn with a blue 
bow stuck coquettishly on one side, and in this rig the 
young dairy-maid looked as picturesque and dainty as 
any lady of honor who ever played at the pretty work 
Gwin undertook in earnest. 

Into the vine of scarlet herring-bone, wherewith the 
borders of that bib were enriched, Betty sewed many 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


263 


silent speculations of her own. Her recent discovery or 
the secret of Gwin’s happiness haunted her perpetually, 
and yet, with all her ponderings, she could not see her 
way clear to an equally delightful frame of mind. Not 
that she was in the least unhappy ; only that she felt 
there must be something beyond, and at her ardent age 
one does not like to wait. It seems like a waste of time. 
All the while she went on sedately with her embroidery 
and millinery, took her turn at playing bonne to the little 
waif, and was careful about many things, and no one 
guessed that for any reason her heart was disquieted 
within her. 

About this time she fell to rummaging extensively in 
the library, and might have been seen at odd hours, had 
there been any one to look, poring over certain rarely 
used volumes, with every appearance of profound interest. 
This went on for several days, until Gwin, on one occa- 
sion, coming in for an hour of bibliothecal refreshment, 
found and proceeded to examine her. 

“What are you so absorbed in, Betty?” 

“ All manner of ancient and modern dodges for beauti- 
fying the world and bread-getting. I have an idea that I, 
too, might do something useful and be happy if I could 
only get a suggestion.” She looked up from a ponderous 
volume open at an article on the illumination of ancient 
missals, and added, “ I am burrowing a good deal in the 
hope of helping the something I want, to turn up.” 

“ Won’t it turn ?” Gwin was full of interest at once. 

“ It has n’t yet.” 

“After the little Ginger goes home, I must go into 


264 


THE OLD HOUSE 


that. line myself,” said Gwin, with an air of quite enjoying 
the prospect. 

“ Why, you are ranged already !” 

“ So-so,” she answered demurely. 

“ It is not possible that your enthusiasm has died out ?” 

“No, indeed. But there is a surplus of it that I can’t 
dispose of. Making butter once a week is n’t being busy 
enough, and one can’t gloat all day long over six pans of 
milk. I must find something to fill up the pauses. We 
‘ can’t calculate ’ on the copying. I would like, not only 
to save a penny, but to earn one now and then ; it is a 
very nice kind of magic, turning one’s work into — ingots, 
did n’t they call them ? But neither copper nor gold 
shall I make out of my butter. The companions of my 
youth pay it such destructive compliments I have had 
to renounce all hope of saving any to send to market.” 

“ While I have been seeking for myself, I have found 
something for you. The other day when I went over to 
pay my respects to Dot and Trot, in answer to Miss 
Minty’s question as to how affairs went with us, I said, 
jestingly, ‘ O, the land flows with milk and honey !’ She 
laughed, but, to my instant consternation, took me liter- 
ally. At least she said, ‘ I ’ve been thinking you ’d ought 
to keep bees. They ain’t much trouble, don’t cost noth- 
ing to speak of, and they’d just suit Gwin, she takes so 
naturally to country ways.* I believe I begged her not to 
put you up to any more enterprises, but when I came 
home I was hunting over the shelves and found this 
Book on Bees, which I read through ; and it is so pleas- 
ant I believe I should like to keep them myself.” 


ON BRIAR IIILL. 


265 


Gwin begged for the book, and in a few moments her 
heart and mind were absorbed in the habits and customs 
of that most interesting insect. 

“ It is just magnificent ! ” she pronounced when the 
last page was finished. “ Let’s do it, Betty. I am sure 
no one will have any objections. And, though of course 
we won’t boast of it, I do n’t see why one could not make 
a fortune so.” 

“ I should like it, for it is really a lovely thing,” said 
Betty. “ The flowers fill their cells with sweet amber 
wine of dew and sunshine, and the bees make it into 
honey and store it in dainty waxen cells for you. I love 
to see the garden full of bees ; they are so brave with 
their pretty gauze wings, their golden coats and their 
spinning-wheel drone. I have read that in old times bees 
were regarded as the emblem of chastity, that the ap- 
proach of a vile person would so enrage them that they 
would fly out and sting him- to death, and that only the 
purest might wear golden bees as ornaments.” 

“ I do n’t see why we should not set up a hive,” said 
Gwin, returning to practical considerations. “ There 
is n’t much to be done for them. I mean to make out a 
list of the honeyest flowers so that their wine — luxurious 
’ creatures ! shall not be wanting.” 

When Roy came home he was greeted with the tidings, 
“ Gwin has got another plan.” 

“ Well,” he said, with an air of resignation, “there’s 
nothing for it but to give in at the outset, her dairy plan 
has turned out so abominably well. What bee has she 
in her bonnet now ?” 


266 


THE OLD HOUSE 


This happy hit was received with a merriment that 
was soon explained to Roy, and Gwin was proceeding to 
victimize him with lengthy quotations from the- fascina- 
ting Book on Bees, with which she was armed, but he 
cried for quarter, and offered unconditional surrender. 
He was secretly made happy by the way in which his 
sisters made the best of the new life and sought to fill it 
with the pleasant and wholesome occupations belonging 
to it, but he affected to pull a wry face, and assert com- 
plainingly, 

“ You’ll want a premium hive — ” 

“ With glass boxes, that we may watch the bees at 
work,” put in Betty. 

“ One will do to begin with,” said Gwin, saucily. 

“ Item," said Roy pulling out his tablets, “ one large 
bottle hartshorn, best known remedy for stings.” 

“ Wait until we order it, if you please ! Oh ! what a 
little Paradise this is growing to be !” said Gwin ecstati- 
cally. 

“ I thought Paradise became terra incognita and 
closed its gates when people began to earn their bread in 
the sweat of their brow,” suggested Roy. 

“ I do n’t understand how that could be. It is so much 
happier to have every moment filled with work. Per- 
haps Betty is nearer right in calling it a Canaan.” 

“It is Canaan to me all through the week, and Para- 
dise when I get here,” said Roy, lying back in the great 
easy chair and looking deliciously lazy. “ With no end 
of Eves, too, if only they had a proper curiosity ! You 
don’t ask me the news ; you do n’t appear to be aware 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


267 


that I have a neat little budget that is waiting for an in- 
vitation to be opened.” 

“ Sesame /” cried Gwin. “ Is that cabalistic enough ?’* 

“ It will do very well, thank you. My budget is for 
Percy, but you may all hear. Do you remember Mrs. 
Yorke’s mystery, that she teased you girls about that 
night ? Well, to-day she opened the bag and let pussy 
out. It is a very charming, wonderful, and unexpected 
cat, indeed. The Professor is going South on a short 
business trip, and as he will never consent to be parted 
from his wife, nor she from him, it follows that she goes 
too. They have decided that the change and the sea 
voyage may be of great benefit to Percy’s health, and so 
I come to my message. You are cordially invited and 
entreated, as I think, ‘ past all saying nay,’ Percy, to go 
with them on this journey. That is all. Except that I 
have already indorsed the plan.” 

Roy’s budget was well received. Mrs. North, Betty, 
and Gwin were tempted into hopeful speculations as to 
the great benefit an invalid might derive from the voyage. 
Roy, too, was enthusiastic in his hopes. But Percy, the 
object of all this joyful discussion, lay quiet and thought- 
ful, taking no part in the talk, which Betty at last ob- 
served. 

“ But you say nothing, Percy. Surely you do n’t 
object?” 

“ Mother,” said Persis wistfully, “ you will let me dec- 
ade it, will you not ? Would you all be very much disap- 
pointed if I do n’t wish to go ? I shall do as you think 
best, but I feel so happy and comfortable here, and I am 


263 


THE OLD HOUSE 


sure I grow stronger every day in this pure air, don't 
send me away from home, will you, mother ?” 

They insisted that this was not the right way in which 
to put it, but when Percy replied that she should not go 
unless she was sent, and really took the matter to heart, 
they yielded to her wish. But when Mrs. North shortly 
after left the room, Percy had something more to say. 

“Don’t look dejected, Roy. Can’t you see that you 
can do a great deal better with this invitation than send- 
ing me off? Let mother go. She needs the change. 
Marsh-mallows and Miss Minty’s Madragora will never 
cure her cough, but a sea voyage might.” 

“ Would she consent to leave you girls ?” asked Roy, 
doubtfully. 

“ For a few weeks — just to Bermuda and back — I think 
she would, if we put the case very strongly, and get Miss 
Minty to promise to look after us.” 

“ I will first speak to Mrs. Yorke about it,” said Roy. 

And so it came about that the carrier-dove’s first mes- 
sage to Sweet Briars was a note from Mrs. Yorke expres- 
sing her pleasure at hearing of Percy’s improved health, 
and her hope that the girls would be self-denying and 
spare their mother for the little journey which might do 
her so much good. Mrs. North smiled down her chil- 
! dren’s coaxing, and would not listen to their entreaties, 
until they were re-inforced by the advice of the old physi- 
cian, after which she submitted,. 

“ I never dreamed,” exclaimed Betty, “ it could ever 
come to pass that I should be reasonably content to have 
Lolly Langdon mistress of our dear old home and gar- 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


269 





den. But I am more than that, I look on it as one of 
our blessings, since, because of it, mother is able to take 
this voyage which is going to make her well again. How 
dare we ever think anything disagreeable, I wonder, when 
we never know what particularly good thing may not 
come of it !” 

“ That is n’t all,” said Roy. “ That piece of good for- 
tune will also restore your brother to you. I’ve been 
demonstrating the propriety of doing as I like, in Gwin’s 
way, by figures. They add up on my side, and * the con- 
sequence is,’ I am about to set up a saddle-pony, and ride 
to and fro daily. So you will have the pleasure of my 
company at breakfast and tea hereafter. You can count 
that, too, if you choose.” 

“ Good things are always happening to us now !” cried 
Rose, who thought a brood of fan-tails and a pony the 
height of human felicity. “ I never feel sorry, as I used 
to down there , — it seemed so dark and big ; and the sun 
never shone in at all of our windows as it does here.” 

“ The carrier-pigeon will find his occupation gone 
almost before he has learned the way.” 

“ He will be serviceable if you happen to need a skein 
of silk or a beefsteak. You can send him down with any 
orders you may forget to give me in the morning ; or if 
the cats get into the cream-pots, or the cow breaks into 
the corn, and my presence is needed to quell these domes- 
tic uprisings.” 

The prospect of the pony did much to reconcile Mrs. 
North to a short absence, and Miss Marigold’s hearty 
promise to “ look after the young folks, keep ’em straight 


270 


THE OLD HOUSE 


while they were well, and tend to them if they got sick,” 
banished her last objection. 

In the brief interval before her departure, the girls found 
it necessary to the maintenance of their courage to keep 
very busy ; and “ those blessed bees ” helped them, for 
it was decided that much gardening must be done with a 
view to their tastes and requirements. They could not 
go about it in the ordinary way, for these girls had a trick 
of infusing something which seemed to them artistic or 
poetic, into their work, ever since they had learned that 
one may make even drudgery divine. No doubt there is 
a deal of drudgery in gardening, but Gwin gayly dismissed 
it from consideration with the remark, 

“ One must n’t think of the grubbing — but of the senti- 
ment !” 

Betty’s superior taste was allowed to take the lead, and 
plan the method of the flower garden. 

She proposed delightful things. 

“ This long alley,” she decided, “ shall be bordered on 
each side with tall, gay hollyhocks, as a memorial of the 
poet Wordsworth’s garden at Rydal. He took great de- 
light in them, and had them set in a long avenue of all 
colors, from crimson-brown to rose, straw-color and 
white. Some of the old writers call them hollyoaks, and 
they have a still prettier name of rose-mallow. Our va- 
riegated avenue shall end in a bower, for we will plant a 
perfect grove of sun-flowers in the corner, there. I like 
their great, velvety, brown hearts, and so do the bees. 
And I like their broad old-fashioned blossoms. They 
look like good-natured saints with an aureole about their 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


271 


heads. And it is true , they do always turn to their God 
when he sets the same look that they turned when he 
rose. In the midst of the bower we will have some sort t 

of a pedestal, the stump of a tree with the bark on will 
do, and on it we will set that plaster Cupid that Percy 
would n’t have in the house because she got so tired of 
his always taking aim and never shooting. He ’s rather 
damaged, but in the golden shade of the sun-flowers, 
he ’ll do very well.” 

“ Is there any other flower with a legend that we can 
have ?” asked Gwin. “ That is a beautiful thought of 
yours.” 

“ There is narcissus, hyacinth, love-lies-bleeding.” 

“ We will have them all. And laurel,— there is plenty 
in the woods. Let us go and dig up some roots.” 

“ Would it be good for bees ?” questioned Betty. “ I 
have heard that it will poison sheep. But we shall have 
to go on root expeditions, for we must certainly have a 
Bacon Alley in our garden.” 

“ Whatever is that ?” 

“Don’t you remember that delightful essay ‘Of 
Gardens ’ ? ” 

“ No, I am sure I do n’t.” 

“ Then I will read it to you,” said Betty. 

She brought the book, and sitting down on a grass 
border, the two pretty heads cheek to cheek bent over the 
page from which Betty read aloud. 

“ God Almighty first planted a garden ; and indeed it 
is the purest of human pleasures.” So began the essay 
of which Gwin would have every word, before she would 




272 


THE OLD HOUSE 


consent to deliberate upon the special passages Betty- 
wished to point out. “This sentence is what gave me 
the idea of a Bacon Alley,” said Betty, turning back the 
leaves. . “ ‘ Those which perfume the air most delightful- 
ly, not passed by as the rest, but being trodden upon and 
crushed , are three, that is burnet, wild thyme, and water- 
mints ; therefore, you are to set whole alleys of them to 
have the pleasure when you walk or tread.’ I haven’t an 
idea what burnet is ; but we can get quantities of water- 
mints down by the brook. Let us carry out the idea, and 
whenever life grows hard and we feel crushed ourselves, 
we can go and walk in our alley, and meditate upon how 
some things — herbs and people — need to be broken and 
bruised to make them give out their sweetness. See!” 

“ It is a sermon in leaves. But I want the wild thyme 
for a bank. You must make lavender and ‘ sweet marjo- 
ram warm set ’ do for your walk. And it should have a 
border of strawberry plants, because the leaves die ‘ with 
a most excellent cordial smell.’ ” 

“ And, Gwin, why can’t we have ‘ a heath,’ too ? We 
might take that grassy slope and set it with every kind of 
little wild thing that we can find, — ferns and yellow violets 
from the woods, pennyroyal from the rock crevices, Solo- 
mon’s seal, and adder’s tongue, bloodroot, which has a 
pretty white blossom, wild asters, fringed gentian, and 
golden rod. Perhaps even wild pink azalias, the sweet, 
white honeysuckle that grows in the moist pasture, and 
sumach. Shall we have * a heath ? ’ ” 

“ One could not devise a pleasanter way of studying 
botany ! We ’ll rig up some tin boxes to strap over our 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 73 


shoulders, and every time we walk in the woods we will 
bring home treasures. We ought to make old Tony’s 
acquaintance. We shan’t know the names of half our 
roots, but there ’s no end to her wood-lore.” 

“ Moreover some of the prettiest things are dangerous. 
Do n’t you remember how when somebody and his sister 
Jane were walking down the shady lane, they ate some 
berries bright and red, that grew about and hung o’er 
head, and it was the death of them? I think we will 
cultivate Tony, and learn of her.” Here Betty’s eye 
glanced upon the word rosemary. “ Ah ! we must have 
that, Gwin, for it is one of your kind of plants, — sweet 
when crushed, — and if it hasn’t precisely a legend, its 
perfume is linked with tender associations. You know 
the story of the Tower of Andernach and the Keeper’s 
daughter who * lies asleep in her little grave under the 
lindens of Feldkirche with rosemary in her folded hands.’ 
And Ophelia’s ‘ there’s rosemary, that’s for remembrance.’ 
Its pretty name means sea-dew, and was suggested by 
the lovely appearance of the gray bushes that grow on 
the rocky coasts of France and Italy — when mantled with 
dew. The honey of Narbonne is said to owe its peculiar 
flavor to the bees feeding on the blossoms of the rose- 
mary.” 

“ Is it a pleasant flavor?” 

“ I do n’t know ; but it does n’t matter, as the plant 
rarely blossoms out of doors, here, I think.” 

“ I wish you would find out what the bees of Hymettus 
fed upon. I want that honey to be a very superior 


274 


THE OLD HOUSE 


article,” said Gwin ; “ for I mean it shall take a premium 
at the next fair.” 

What with reading essays, and burrowing in legends, 
the girls became much engrossed in their gardening, and 
the care of little Ginger devolved upon Percy and Rose 
during the busy hours of the day. Rose being the most 
careful and patient of bonnes and enchanted with her 
young charge, and Ginger the best of babies with no idea 
of possible distractions beyond those of feeding and sleep- 
ing, ail went well with the small guest who carried off 
laurels as an amazingly good little thing. 

Gwin made a visit to Miss Minty for roots of sweet 
herbs in which her garden abounded, and came home 
with a pocketful of seeds for the kitchen garden as well. 

“ It is so much trouble to sow and transplant, ’ Betty 
objected. 

“Then leave it to me,” said Gwin. 

The next morning when Betty wanted her, she was 
not to be found in house or garden. While searching 
she was attracted by . the sound of vigorous hammering, 
and following it around the barn found Gwin in a sunny 
nook carpentering away with much ingenuity. She had 
a saw, a few old boards, a tape measure from her work- 
box, hammer, nails, and a spade. With the latter she 
had prepared a raised bed of rich mould, around which 
she was striving to build her boards already sawed in 
short lengths. 

“ Why Gwin ! what now ?” 

“ A hot-bed,” she answered with a deprecating look. 
u Do n’t lecture dear, for I had to do it, — or go without. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 75 


It will bring forward the lettuce and tomato seeds Miss 
Minty gave me, and we shall have early salads, if it works 
well.” 

“ Where will you get sashes for it ? ” 

“ Borrow them from the barn. I’ve taken the measure, 
and cut my boards to fit. The dove^s won’t fly away now, 
and the barn can spare a window or two, well enough.” 

“ I wanted you to go to the brook for mints. Tim has 
spaded up the path, though much against his con- 
science.” 

After dinner the two girls with their root basket and 
trowels went down to the brook ; below the bend of the 
road it broadened in a clear, shallow pool, where the 
cattle going to and from the fields waded in to drink, and 
all its marge was thickly fringed with the spicy mints they 
sought. 

The labor of digging up the roots was light, yet when 
the basket was filled, Betty sat back on the grassy bank, 
clasped her hands around her knee, and sighed wearily. 
Gwin had gone about the work gayly, too engrossed with 
the enchanting garden they were constructing to be con- 
scious of fatigue. She looked up dismayed, and studied 
her sister’s face. 

“ Oh ! Betty — you are tired of our garden !” 

" No.” But her voice was not enthusiastic. 

“ And through you it is going to be so beautiful !” 

“ Do n’t be reproachful, Gwin. I am not tired of it.” 

Gwin pondered, still searching Betty’s countenance. 

“ I know !” she exclaimed. “ It does n’t turn up, yet.’* 

“ Well — it is partly that, and partly because the right 


27 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


sort of motive does n’t seem to be in any of my work, and 
so it is all unsatisfactory. We moil and toil, and at the 
end we still have to ask, What is the good of it.” 

“ It benefits the bees.” 

“ They would do as well with only a clover field. I 
fancy the trouble is because there is so much of self in 
all our work. We could live without honey.” 

“ We can send it to market, then.” 

“And make money? That isn’t living to any very 
noble purpose either, is it ?” 

“ It might be a first step towards it, perhaps. Having 
earned our own salt, we could be economical and try to 
save something to put into the mission-box.” 

“ I want to be doing something for some one else. I 
should like to comfort, and give, and lend a helping 
hand.” 

“And play Good Lady Bertha, and deal out Honey- 
broth to the poor. I know you ! But one must be rich 
for that. Do n’t brood, Betty. The time may come yet. 
It has brightened — as if a miracle had been wrought — in 
one little quarter of a year ; so I dare to believe that it 
will turn up all right, and you will make a fortune by your 
talents, and give out the Honey-broth, yet.” 

They were all agreed that not a tear should embitter 
the mother’s farewell, and they met rt with only bright 
looks and smiles when Professor Yorke drove up to take 
her from them, and the hour to be heroic came. 

Percy’s couch was wheeled into the bay-window, that 
she might follow her mother with her gaze until the last 
moment. Betty, Gwin and Rose went with her to the 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


277 


gate, and clung to her a little in the last embrace, but 
bravely kept the tears back, until she might no longer see 
them sparkle and fall. 

“ Come home to us well” 

“ And safe, mother dear,” they called after her. 

The wan, thin face looked back, brightened by tender 
smiles, the fair hand wafted back kisses to her darlings, 
and the mother passed away out of sight in the glow of 
the sunset. They gazed until they could see her no 
longer. Then Rose, lifting her sweet voice rather trem- 
ulous and misty with tears, called towards the spot where 
she had passed from their sight : 

“ Mother — dear, good-night !” 

And a faint, clear voice, musical though far away, 
answered distinctly : 

“ Dear, good-night !” 

The girls surprised, called again, not loudly, and again 
the echo responded in tones faint, and far, and sweet : 

“ Dear, good-night.” 



THE OLD HOUSE 


278 


XXIII. 

A Flower-Diary. 

“ So many pleasant things were always happening,” 
Rose said. But in truth it was only that drinking in the 
pure air of the hills, and living a free, out-of-door life, 
gave the girls gay spirits and the happy moods which 
incline one to peer into things for their hidden, beautiful 
meanings, ajid make one quick to see in the commonest 
object some “ grace and glimmer of romance.” 

The lilacs were doing only what they had done for 
long years unthanked by any one, when they clothed 
their gnarled gray stems with heart-shaped leaves, put 
on their regal robes of purple and white, and shook out 
largess of sweet incense whenever a wandering breeze 
lost its way among their nodding spires of bloom. Yet 
not in vain had they lived and blossomed, for at last they 
had found true lovers who never wearied of their sweet- 
ness, nor failed daily to deck the house, and make the 
fireless hearth beautiful with their blossoming branches. 

For years the swallows had twittered, and builded, and 
brooded under the eaves, coming and going in graceful 
arrowy flight, and no one — unless, perhaps, the house 
cat lazily blinking in the sunshine— had thought it worth 
while to stop and notice them. But days of peace and 
plenty had suddenly dawned for the swallows ; Rose had 
adopted them, and no cat dared longer to watch them witli 
speculation in her eyes concerning her next meal. The 
shaking of the table-cloth had been converted into a 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


279 


ceremony whereby the crumbs were daily scattered in a 
convenient banquet for them, yet not for them exclusive- 
ly ; any bird from the wayside and hedges was made 
welcome and free to partake. Indeed, the more bird 
company flocked to these democratic feasts the better 
pleased was Rose. Her hospitality and bread-crumbs 
never fell short, though Rhoda’s bread puddings often 
did in consequence. 

Under the magic of April’s soft showers, and May’s 
warm sunshine everything grew green and beautiful all 
at once in that sheltered nook of the hills. 

At first Percy was carefully borne out in her rocking- 
chair that she might sit in the sunshine when it fell 
warmest, watch her sisters at work in the garden, and 
share their enjoyment of the open air. Soon the days 
grew so warm the rocking-chair was drawn under the 
light shade of a blossoming plum tree, where the air was 
soft and perfumed, and here the long afternoon hours 
were spent, Betty busied with her needle or pencil ; Gwin 
with her book, for they had, by way of continuing their 
education, taken up a rather ambitious course of reading ; 
Rose playing quietly near. Under this tree they made 
picnics of their lunch, wrote many-paged journal letters 
to the mother, and, when the lengthening days made it 
safe for Percy, lingered until Roy came home to join the 
garden-party. Let him be never so tired at his return, 
his face always lighted with pleasure to see Persis out 
there, getting a rose blush on her pale cheeks, and look- 
ing quite fresh and bright at an hour when, but a few 
weeks before, she would have been listless and exhausted. 


28 o 


THE OLD HOUSE 


As was his way he showed his gladness also in deeds, 
and in his leisure hours constructed a rustic seat that en- 
circled the trunk of the plum-tree, and a small table, 
shaped like a toad-stool, before it to hold Work, books, or 
lunch tray for their convenience. 

Betty and Gwin did not fail to take their daily walk ;! 
now exploring the woods and dales ; now climbing to the; 
rocky summit of one of the .hills to see what manner of 
world lay on the other side, and always finding some ex- 
quisite bit of landscape for Betty’s pencil to essay, some 
plant with wonderful foliage, or blossoms fairy-fine to be 
transferred to Gwin’s box. 

“ I have no more regrets,” Betty confessed, as they 
rested on the warm, bare crest of the rock-capped hill, j 
her eyes feasting on the loveliness of the scene beneath, ' 
which her pencil had vainly sought to sketch. “Now I 
can see only good in all that has happened to us. It is 
fitting, too, that we who can so appreciate all that is love- 
ly or majestic, should have come to live where beauty and 
grandeur lie all around us. I think the people who could 
name Briar Hill with only a scornful thought of its poor 
fields and thistle crops must have been those who walk 
with their eyes on the ground and see nothing of the 
gloty that surrounds them. It does me so much good ! 
I don’t dare to be little, or narrow, or mean, in the pres- 
ence of so much greatness. Whenever I find myself 
yielding to any of the old bad habits — pride or selfishness, 
vain-glory or faint-heartedness — these,” Betty waved her 
hand toward the hills, the woods, the wide-spreading 
slopes of the valley, “ are a magnificent reproach.” 


ON BRIAR II I L L. 


28l 


For my part,” responded Gwin, “I remember what 
Confucius said, ‘ The wise find pleasure in water ; the 
virtuous find pleasure in hills and I felicitate myself. 
For according to that, Betty, how wise and virtuous we 
must be who dote on both.” 

Rose was permitted to go with them in shorter wood- 
land walks, which, taken at noon-tide, often ended at the 
lake, always a pleasant spot with its flag-grown, reedy 
edges, its two or three dots of fairy islands embowered 
with the light foliage of silver-stemmed birches and 
shivering alders that leaned over to their reflections in 
the clear water, where a flotilla of water-lilies moored 
their broad green leaves, and an old boat rocked idly 
among the tall sedges. 

Here, under their favorite walnut tree the elder sisters 
rested and talked of their plans, of Paul, to whose mem- 
ory that spot was held sacred, whose words and example 
were recalled to influence their aspirations and works ; 
while Rose, forbidden to approach the water, played con- 
tentedly near them, or gathered her basket full of delicate 
wood flowers to carry to Percy who had much delight in 
these wildlings which she might never again see bloom- 
ing in their mossy coverts or nestling at the roots of the 
old trees. The little girl’s reward was to garland Percy’s 
chair, and wreathe her head until she looked like a dryad 
in festival array, or pale April herself, crowned with her 
own scentless darlings 

Roy admired the effect, and wanted to know whence 
the garlands came. 

“ I found them down by — by Paul’s tree,” Rose an- 


2§2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


swered, making up the name as being the easiest way of 
telling where they grew ; and, thenceforth, as “ Paul’s 
tree ” it was known among them — a green, living monu- 
ment that bore blossoms and fruit, every spring renew- 
ing its verdure, every winter sturdily breasting the storms. 

Roy gave her a fond smile for the name, but he gently 
warned her that she must never venture near the lake by 
herself. 

“Yes, I know,” said Rose. “ I wanted to take off my 
shoes and stockings and wade in, but they would n’t let 
me. I think they might , though, for I was n’t by myself, 
then !” 

Roy explained the danger, and asked her to promise 
to be truly obedient in the matter. 

“ Why,” asked Rose, not quite willing to shut herself 
out from so lovely a spot, and demurring to put off the 
moment, “ is not all obedience *- truly '?" 

Roy smiled at her diplomacy, and said he thought not. 

“ But how can that be, Roy ?” asked Gwin. “ Obedi- 
ence is just obedience, I should think.” 

“ Perhaps I can make it plainer to Rose if I tell her 
the story of a little child which I once read in a sermon. 
Beside the cottage where he lived with his father and 
mother, there was a fruit-tree— I forget whether it was a 
peach or a pear— whose branches grew up about the win- 
dows ; and one season only one blossom bore fruit. For 
some reason this single pear was to be left to fully ripen 
— perhaps to test its quality and flavor — and the little 
child was told not to pluck it. He was accustomed to 
do as he was bidden, and he did not pluck it ; but the 


\ 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


283 


Trait, hanging within reach of his window, tempted him 
sorely, and the little fingers picked and pecked at it until 
it was not worth gathering. So, you see, I find a good 
•illustration of obedience according to the spirit, which is 
truly obedience, and of that according to the letter, 
which is not.” 

Rose listened attentively to the story, thought it over a 
little, and then, with the bright gentleness which was one 
of her charming traits, volunteered the required promise. 
It was enough. She had been taught never to give her 
word unless she meant to abide by it, and “ Honor 
bright ” was with her a solemn obligation. 

“ Then,” said Roy, “ I will try to make it easy for you 
by bringing it to pass that you may all go often to the 
lake. It is such a lovely spot, and will be so cool and 
pleasant in the hot mid-summer days, I want Percy to 
enjoy it, too. What do you say, Percy ?” 

“ I am afraid that can never be, unless you some day 
carry me up-stairs to the girls’ window ; and I am fast 
growing too heavy for even your strong arms.” 

“ So much the better ! But you shall not be the loser. 
Gwin used to say I was like Sir William of Deloraine, 
and to keep up the character I have provided an expedi- 
ent ; you must have a bath-chair, Percy. I was looking 
at several the other day, and selected a style that would 
suit you, a light, easy chair hung on springs, mounted on 
wheels, and so easily propelled that I think your strength 
could manage it. Would you not like one ?” 

“ Very much — it would be delightful to go alone once 
more — but they must be very expensive, I fear.” 


284 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“We can afford to launch into luxuries a little,” said 
Roy, “ since we have become such domestic economists 
and self-supporters.” 

He did not mention the fact that, foreseeing this need, 
he had for several weeks set apart a little fund, the re- 
sult of his extra evening labors, for that very purpose. 
Without delay the chair was ordered, and when, in due 
course, it arrived the event was gaily celebrated by each 
of the sisters making short experimental excursions down 
the garden path ; and when Persi3 was lifted in to take 
her turn she was attended by a jubilant throng much 
like a victorious queen in her triumphal chariot. The 
slight effort she made to propel herself exhausted her, 
and she lay back, panting and disappointed, on the cush- 
ions. 

“ All in good time,” said Roy, cheeringly. “ Practice 
will make it easier, and you will grow stronger every day 
with the effort. Won’t mother be glad, when she comes 
home, to see you actually going about by yourself!” 

Roy’s little phrase about self-supporters brought a 
tender shadow of regret to Betty’s face. She did not yet 
see her way clear to the work which was to be unselfish, 
to beautify, and to help. She had a vague sense, half 
hope, half belief, that by her pencil it was to be wrought, 
even though all her efforts fell so far short of her standard 
as to give her repeated discouragement and pain. Yet 
being haunted by the oracle, “ Skill to do, comes of do- 
ing,” she spent some hours daily in the solitary practice 
of her art. Her portfolio showed a curious variety of 
studies, ambitious landscapes but half completed by the 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


285 


disheartened artist predominating ; while now and again 
a leaf filled with bits of graceful and grotesque fancies, a 
feathery spray of grass and a buttercup entwined to form 
an initial ; a lackadaisical frog with his hand on his heart, 
serenading a luxurious fay cradled in a water-lily ; a 
melancholy katy-did playing a bass-viol at the foot of 
a mullein ; violets whispering secrets, and an owl 
leaning from a thicket to listen, showed where the 
impatient pencil had taken brief recreation from high 
art. 

One afternoon she sat alone on the step of a shady 
stile, her book on her knee, her eyes fixed wistfully on the 
crowding peaks of distant hills veiled in fender, violet 
shadows and wavering mists. The outlines of her sketch 
were well enough, but the sentiment of the scene was 
wanting, and vainly she studied wherein it hid and mocked 
her efforts. Not far distant in the sheep pasture to 
which the stile led — a rugged field dotted with rocks and 
stunted bushes — under the shade of clustering trees 
gleamed a dark pool, whence presently came the plain- 
tive bleat of a young lamb which, gamboling too near the 
treacherous bank, had slipped into the water, and strug- 
gled vainly to regain the shore. Betty, dropping her 
portfolio, hastened to the rescue ; she even succeeded in 
casting the long plaid she wore around the lamb’s neck, 
but her strength was not sufficient to pull the frightened 
creature to land. She was unable to save it, yet she 
could not leave it to die. 

“ Poor Nannie — pretty Nannie ! ” she said, again and 
again, in a caressing voice, hoping to encourage it. 


286 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Do n’t fear — I’ll not give you up. . . O, Nannie, can’t 
you be sensible and keep quiet ? Your struggles make 
matters all the worse ! I can’t leave you to drown, poor 
lamb, — but, we shall have to be rescued together if you 
are saved.” 

“ Can I help you?” asked a strange voice, so startling 
Betty she came near dropping the ends of her scarf. It 
was a pleasant voice, and later, when she had time to 
look, she found it belonged to a pleasant face whereof 
the dark eyes were soft and smiling. He promptly gath- 
ered the ends of the impromptu noose into one hand, 
with the other helped Betty up the bank, and without 
more ado plunged into the pool. Withdrawing the plaid, 
he tucked it into his pocket, calling back to the owner, 

“ 1 am afraid it is spoiled ; it is quite wet and with a 
strong grasp he dragged the lamb out of peril. 

Betty made him graceful thanks for his timely aid, and 
was relieved to see that he wore huge fishing-boots and 
would not be the worse for his plunge. 

“You were sitting by the stile,” he said, and Betty 
found his manner frank, sunny, yet unintrusive, indescrib- 
ably pleasant. “ Let me walk back with you, and hang 
your plaid on the fence where it will dry.” 

“ I need not trouble you,” Betty answered, holding 
out her hand for the wrap. She thought the scene ought 
to conclude with her thanks. 

“ But it is wet. Pray allow me to do you this small 
service.” 

The fisherman’s air and tone were so courteous, and 
withal so gently persistent, she did not know how to de- 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


287 


cline. It was but a step ; and he made no delay in 
spreading the garment in the sunshine, only pausing, when 
this was done, to help Betty collect her scattered drawings, 
at which he glanced, with an indulgent smile for the am- 
bitious work, and eyes that brightened with pleasure over 
the nothing-at-all bits. These restored, without giving 
her time to repeat her thanks, he lifted his straw hat, 
smiled, bowed, and was gone. 

Betty needs must wait for the plaid to dry, but she 
worked no more at her sentimental hills. Leaning her 
thin on one palm, she scribbled other bits of flower and 
fable fancies, a nightingale singing to the rose whose 
thorn pierces his breast ; a row of heavily-hanging sun- 
flowers with woe-begone faces and handkerchiefs, weeping 
“ over their graves i’the earth so chilly,” while a pansy 
with marvelous eyes and an opera-glass looks on ; a 
bean-stalk ending in the clouds, with a despairing maiden 
prostrate at its foot yet “ fain to climb,” to whom a mount- 
ing youth bends, stretching a helping hand. 

She was striving to recall the face of the friendly fisher- 
man, but much to her surprise could see only the dazzle 
of that smiling glance. At last she rose, said to herself, 
a little provoked, “ He must have been all eyes, like 
Blanche Amory !” and went slowly home. It occurred to 
her that she had an adventure to tell, but she was con- 
scious of a strange reluctance to speak of if. 

“ It was such a sentimental episode — a lamb in danger, 
— a soft-hearted young woman ditto, because her will was 
better than her way— and a strange youth with no name, 
and no features but eyes, rescuing the silly pair and van- 


238 


THE OLD HOUSE 


ishing with a smile. No — it sounds too pastoral ! There 
ought to be more — or nothing. I won’t tell — except to 
mother.” 

“ Mother ” was made as much the participant of all 
the little home joys as if she had been present among 
them. Ever/ night Gwin and Rose held a sunset talk 
with her, Gwin having framed a series of questions to 
which it was impossible that any but sensible and cheer- 
ing answers should come. 

“ Mother — dear !” she would call with a rising inflec- 
tion. 

“ Dear ?” would come queslinningly back. 

“ Are you— much better ?” 

“Much better.” 

“ Do you hear that, girls ?” she would ask triumphani- 
ly ; then call again : “ Are you — almost well ?” 

“ Most well.” 

“ And coming home — very soon ?” 

“ Very soon.” 

They would listen, laugh, look as glad as if it were 
really a message from their mother, and softly call .in 
chorus a fond “ good-night,” always to hear the distant 
voice sweetly respond “ good-night.” 

Rose was very fond of “ talking with mother ” in this 
way ; only sometimes she received extremely unsatisfac- 
tory replies. 

One day she came to Percy with tears running down 
her cheeks, because “ mother had said she had been very 
bad r 

It turned out that she had really been a little naughty 


i 




ON BRIAR HILL 


289 


for her, wayward and willful, and her tender conscience 
had led her to “ tell mother all about it,” or, according 
to Gwin, she had been “ crying her sins out on the hill- 
tops and the confession ended, she asked, with a child- 
like craving after the balm of iimnediate cr-iiSGlalion, 
which she generally received, — 

“ Mother, have I been very bad*?” 

And to her grief and surprise the aiLT&cir came, rather 
sad than stern : “ Very bad.” 

Percy told her the legend of the echo, explained its 
mystery, and did her best to comfort Rose ; but although 
her tears were dried, her heart was still heavy with a very 
sorrowful sense that she was not being the good little 
girl her mother would approve. All this she confided the 
next day to Betty who had gone at Rose’s invitation “ to 
take tea ” at nine o’clock in the morning in her play-house. 
This establishment was situated in a great, uneven field, 
just outside the garden fence, and near a small latticed 
gate embowered by the lilacs. A spur of the hill ran 
across the field, and being abruptly cleft at its base 
formed a green-walled, sheltered nook in which Rose had 
set up her kitchen, her cupboard and china, her doll’s 
table and chairs ; among which she kept house fitfully, 
and received company. 

Betty was the favorite guest, as she entered into the 
dignity of the occasion, would send up her card with due 
formality, and inquire after the health of the children, 
listening with great interest, while she sipped sweetened 
water out of a doll's teacup, to the long list of mumps, 
measles, and scarlet fever with which that very sickly 


290 


THE OLD HOUSE 


family were inevitably afflicted, and recommending- new 
remedies. When the cake was passed, she paid it agree- 
able compliments, accepting the fiction that Rose had 
made it her “ own self,” and begging for the receipt at 
which — funny as it was to hear, with its proportions of 
a pound of soda to half a teacupful of sugar, and twenty 
eggs, — she forbore to laugh. 

To Betty, her young hostess opened her heart on the 
painful subject of being so “very bad,” and asked for ad- 
vice. 

“ Suppose,” Betty kindly counseled, “ that you try to do 
each day just what you know would please mother best 
if she were here. You know what your faults are, dear, 
and what mother wishes you to do to correct them. Then, 
every night, before you go to bed you can think it all 
over, and if you have truly tried, you can count it for a 
good day ; if not, you must count it a bad one, and when 
mother comes home, you can tell her about each.” 

“ I should forget the count,” Rose objected, “ unless I 
set it down every night in a book ; and then I should be 
always losing the pencil.” 

“ That would n’t do at all. Suppose you keep a flower- 
tally. I will give you a book, and for every good day 
you can press in it a Violet, or daisy. F or the naughty 
days you can put in nettle leaves, and they will properly 
sting you by way of punishment.” 

Rose accepted the idea with high approval, and kept 
her flower-diary very conscientiously, pressing her violet, 
and a single nettle leaf on the authority of the echo, 
between the leaves of an old annual that Betty gave her 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


29I 


for that purpose because it was appropriately named the 
Mother’s Wreath— a title which Rose firmly believed 
held an allusion to the floral collection she was preserving 
therein day by day. 

Betty did not venture to revisit the scene of her land- 
and-es-cape ; she had no\ the courage. Yet at home she 
repeatedly strove to retouch the sketch, to catch and 
and imprison there the spirit of beauty that hovered in 
light and shade about the hills. Percy, full of sympathy 
for Betty’s state, was troubled to see her fling down her 
pencil in despair, and begged her not to vex herself longer 
with .that study, but try something else. 

“ Let me try what I will, it ends always the same way,” 
said Betty, thoughtfully. “ Why, I cannot make out. 
The worst of it is, that our best tastes and talents are not 
available.” 

*• My dear — I don’t understand.” 

“ Why, here am I, always earning pretty speeches 
about my artistic tastes — and I think I have them — but 
when it comes to work, to being of use, or doing helpful 
things, though they are held to be quite an enviable pos- 
session, what do they profit me, or anybody else ? I 
can’t paint pictures because, though I can think master- 
pieces, I am not skilled to produce anything better than 
copies. I can’t go about into people’s houses suggesting 
the arrangement of the furniture at so much a room, nor 
can I present my views to the masses from a platform 
because I lack also the power to put things I think into 
words. What’s to be done ? Am I not needed any- 
where? Is there nothing in me that is opportune to 


292 


THE O^D HOUSE 


some want ? . . . Have I no corkscrew in my pocket, and 
isn’t there some one, somewhere, that stands in need of 
one ?” 

Percy smiled at the impetuous questioning. 

“ O Betty, that is like you ! You must needs do mag- 
nificent things, or nothing. If the masterpiece won’t be 
painted, you despair and ask what’s to be done. Beauty 
and Use are not always on a gigantic scale. You may 
never be able to paint a grand picture, but you could 
design — wall-paper, for instance — charmingly/* 

“ Percy !” exclaimed Betty, grieved and reproachful. 
Persis, sorry to have wounded her, hastened to make 
her peace, but Betty hastily interrupted. 

“ You were right — quite right. I knew it, but would n’t 
accept it. If I deceive myself, I must expect blows. . . 
Here comes Gwin with Miss Minty. Forgive me, if I go 
away by myself a little while.” ' 

Being in no spirits for company, she stole away for a 
restoring ramble, carefully avoiding the direction of the 
sheep pasture. In certain disturbed moods a long, soli- 
tary walk was her best remedy ; and as usual she soon 
forgot her trouble in the stroll which brought her literally 
to fresh woods and pastures new. Threading the 
shadowy walks of the one, scaling the rude walls of the 
other, she emerged presently at the entrance of a rocky 
gorge whose steep, broken sides were wildly beautiful with 
clambering vines, while over its rock-strewn bottom a 
sparkling mountain brook rushed, filling the place with 
whispering echoes. Far away up the gorge, she caught 
the flash of a foam-white torrent dashing over the cliffs ; 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


293 


near at hand grew rare ferns ; maiden-hair rooted in 
inaccessible clefts, trailed over the crags ; underfoot grew 
many an unknown plant she coveted for the heath. 
Wandering on slowly, full of delight at the lonely, un- 
tamed beauty of the spot, her eyes fell upon a tiny tuft 
of verdure growing high aloft in a crevice of the rock, 
whose one delicate white blossom nodded to her and 
seemed to beckon. She eyed it wistfully, and the more 
she gazed, the more she longed to possess it. It would 
be a treasure for the heath, she thought, quite worth the 
scramble, and trouble of digging up the root. 

A huge tree, uprooted in some storm, lay across the 
stream, making a pretty, but difficult bridge. Betty 
passed over, resolved to obtain the plant ; she had even 
climbed half-way to its perch, when the gravelly soil 
beneath her feet crumbled, causing her to cry out invol- 
untarily. She clung to a projecting fragment of rock, 
but could neither go forward nor back. 

While she stood hesitating what to do next, she became 
aware of the strange fisherman plying his sport on the 
bank she had just left. In the same instant he perceived 
her plight, and flinging down his rod, strode through 
the flashing waters. Though the bank was again sliding, 
from her weight, and she risked being hurt had no assis- 
tance been near, she felt anything but grateful, when he 
approached, raised his arms, briefly asking her to trust 
herself to his strength, and lightly lifted her to the 
ground. 

Poor Betty heartily confused, and ashamed of this 
second scene, betrayed both emotions in the flush that 


294 


THE OLD HOUSE 


painted her cheeks. The stranger bent upon her a kind, 
indulgent glance — not a sparkle of mischief in his pleas- 
ant smile, — and made light of the position. 

“ You were not in much danger,” he said, reassuringly, 
“ though to an unpracticed climber it must have seemed 
a giddy height. I think you were trying to reach that 
flower ? Let me gather it for you.” 

Before she could decline, he climbed with fearless ease 
up the rock and plucked the blossom, which a moment 
later he quietly offered to her. However much he might 
have liked to linger, he barely paused to hear the briefest 
of thanks, having read in her face and pitying her an- 
noyance. 

Betty was too vexed to be sincerely grateful for this 
second and greatest service ; she would have preferred a 
tumble and some good bruises, and silently resolved as 
she retreated to take no more walks alone “ if that was 
to be the way.” She was very hard on herself for being 
unwittingly the heroine of two such adventures. 

“ What must he think ?” she wondered, indignantly. 

But soon her distress melted away, and she walked on, 
softly smiling at the gentle art by which he had passed 
the matter over lightly, to spare her sensitiveness. 

The blossom which had cost her so much was not 
thrown away as it no doubt deserved, being a mischief- 
maker, but carried carefully home, and preserved between 
the leaves of a favorite book of poems. 

And so it came about that Rose was not the only one 
who kept a flower-diary at Sweet Briars. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 95 


XXIV. 

Honey Broth. 

“ What were you pondering, Bettine, when you were 
walking up and down the Bacon Alley this morning ? ” 
asked Gwin, as her sister joined the group at lunch, un- 
der the plum tree. 

“ I was thinking the path needed more mint ; it is not 
thick enough. Will you go with me for some roots this 
afternoon ? ’ 

“ Yes. But was that all ? ” 

“ Not quite. I was thinking of our talk beside the 
brook, of work outside of self, honey broth, and things ; 
also, that we ought to go some day and see for ourselves 
how the little Ginger comes on.” 

“ Why not to-day ? We can fill our basket with sup- 
plies for Mrs. La Guinga, and take the brook on our way 
home.” 

So it was settled, and an hour later the two girls en- 
tered the hollow where, among some scattered fir trees 
on the slope, stood Mrs. La Guinga’s rude, whitewashed 
cabin. The path straggled down a grassy bank, over a 
sluggish brook fringed with water weeds among which 
geese and ducks were dabbling, and up to the miserable 
hut, whose patched roof looked too small to shelter the 
brood of ragged children that paused in their noisy play 
to stare and wonder at the strangers. 


296 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Here and there were signs of a feeble, futile protest 
against the unloveliness of penury. On the “offset” 
which banked up the base of the cabin, a faint attempt at 
a garden had once been made, and there a sickly mock- 
orange vine still survived, sprawling about the window 
and propped up by a broomstick and a bit of string, 
while a ragged bush of southern wood dragged on a for- 
lorn existence, half minded, apparently, to give it up al- 
together. The grass was all trampled to death on the 
untidy plot before the door ; at the window, a bit of mus- 
lin curtain was partly torn down ; and within the open 
door a state of things wretchedly poor and disorderly 
was visible. 

The entrance was barricaded by a wash-tub, over which 
Mrs. La Guinga was at work, but she hastened to 
make way for her visitors, in spite of their protestations, 
and wiped off one chair with her wet apron, and brushed 
a heap of garments from another, that they might be 
provided with seats. Then, herself sitting on a corner of 
her wash-bench, she told them the sad story of her hus- 
band’s death, and her own sickness, poverty, and struggle 
to maintain herself and all those children, who, in spite 
of her efforts, looked so hungry and ill-cared for. Her 
worn, white face pitifully illustrated her tale ; but the girls 
were most deeply touched at the mute eloquence of her 
glistening eyes, as in her gentle, pretty way she thanked 
them for the trifles they had brought — gifts that seemed 
so small and poor to them, when contrasted with her 
needs. 

“ Here is a package of farina for the bambino,. How 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


2 9 7 


is she ? ” said Gwin, turning to the cradle where lay the 
little Ginger, quietly blowing bubbles and harmlessly fisti- 
cuffing the air. 

“Very good; very well. She has a name now,” an- 
swered the mother. “ I have called her Giovanna— so 
was my mother called — Rosa, for the little sister who is 
so kind to bring her every day a bottle of milk ; Maria, 
for a blessing.” 

“ Rosa Maria,” repeated Gwin, glancing at her sister. 
“‘That’s for remembrance.’ Very pretty, isn’t it, 
Betty ? ” 

“Very. But it is too long for such a little creature. 
What is to be her every-day name ? ” 

“ Vanna,” said Mrs. La Guinga, and as Vanna at this 
point lifted up her small voice, clamoring to be fed, she 
brought from the dresser a battered tin cup, and prepared 
to warm some milk on the hearth, when Betty proposed 
a change of diet, and herself mixed and cooked some 
farina. 

As they proceeded to the bfook, all their talk was of 
the hardships of poor Mrs. La Guinga’s lot. 

“I am sure she would do better if she could,” said 
Gwin, trying to excuse the disorder that reigned at the 
cabin. “Look at that attempt at prettifying, which she 
can’t carry out, because every moment of her strength 
must be given to work that will earn something. And 
how can a woman be ‘ forehanded ’ when there is n’t 
enough any day to go around ? It is strange that some 
people should have such good times, and others have no 
times at all ! ” 


298 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Gwin, I have a dim idea that here is a chance for me 
— to play Lady Bertha, you know.’' 

“You ! Why, Betty — really, I don’t see how.” 

“ Nor do I, yet. But I hope to in time. Here am I 
wanting to be helpful ; there is an overburdened woman 
who needs help. It is little that I can do, but then trifles 
in the way of aid are much to her. I cannot give her 
money, but I can give her minutes in which to earn it. I 
can lend her a pair of hands, swifter to mend, more skill-: 
ful to make, than her own. Her children were wretch- 
edly tattered. I can help to patch, and find the pieces.” 

“ That will be a modest beginning ! ” exclaimed Gwin, 
with some warmth. “ Try to turn up something a little 
more ambitious, dear. I can’t bear to see my Bettine’s 
splendid talents humbled to preside over rag-bags.” 

“ Why, Gwin, that has been my fault all along ! Percy 
herself saw it, and was the first to show me that the rea- 
son why I could make no beginning was because my 
ideas were too magnificent, and roved altogether among 
masterpieces, as if there was no other work in the world 
for me. That unlucky pride of mine is still a let and 
hindrance to me, but I am going to forestall the tumble 
it merits by voluntarily taking the lowest place. Indeed,” 
said Betty honestly, “ when one fairly considers it, that 
is where I belong. I am fit for no other than the lowest 
place.” 

Later, as Betty was planting the last roots of mint, she 
sprang to her feet suddenly, dropped the trowel, and faced 
the group under the tree with an ardent look. Standing 
without the shadow, her eyes shining, the brightness of 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


299 


* the westering sun falling goldenly about her, she, with 
her fair, glad face, made so lovely a picture that Gwin 
cried out : 

“You look transfigured ! ” 

“ I have found it ! ” exclaimed Betty. “ I have found a 
" receipt for the honey broth, Gwin. I will be Vanna’s 
fairy godmother.” 

“ We” Gwin corrected. “ You are to please not leave 
me out of the plan.” 

“ Us,” Percy amended in her turn. “ You are to please 
take notice that I no longer count as helpless, and of no 
use.” 

“ You never did, dear,” Betty replied, her tones as 
tender as a caress. “ Very well, then ; that fortunate in- 
fant shall have three beneficent fairies to look after her 
welfare. We will feed her, clothe her, bring her up, and 
educate her, if all the fairies are agreed. What do you 
say, Cobweb and Gossamer? Don’t you think we may 
do it ? Would it not be a good way to help poor Mrs. 
La Guinga, Percy ? ” 

Percy was of opinion that the scheme was admirable, 
since to carry it out successfully appeared to be quite 
within their power. 

“We need make no promises, until mother comes 
home,” she advised. “Meanwhile, we can arrange to 
send down milk for Vanna every day, and make some of 
our discarded things into comfortable garments for her. 
You say she is poorly furnished with clothes ? ” 

“She has only what mother gave her.” 

“ May n’t I help sew for her, too? ” asked Rose. 


3 °° 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ Yes ; you shall make her a beautiful patchwork cover 
for her cradle, and have a quilting bee, and we’ll all come 
to it,” said Gwin. 

“ But I ought to do more than that, because she is 
named for me,” Rose urged.. “Mayn’t I help to bring 
her up, and be a fairy godmother, too ? ” 

“ Oh, yes ; you shall do your share, Sweeting.” 

“ I will give her a pair of doves some day, when they 
are hatched.” 

“ Better sell them,” Gwin suggested, “ and instead buy 
her shoes, or something she may need.” 

“Well,” assented Rose, “I will do that. Our child 
must not want for anything, must she, Cobweb and Gos- 
samer? ” 

“ Our child” afforded the girls a great deal of delight- 
ful work, in which there was not a particle of self for 
Betty to take exceptions to. Patterns were hunted up ; 
Rose’s small, outgrown garments were cut smaller, and 
needles flashed like beneficent wands over the sewing. A 
pretty blockwork was devised, and a roll of bright cali- 
coes collected for Rose’s quilt, Miss Minty being a liberal 
contributor. 

As the sisters sat together in the afternoon among their 
budding and blossoming flowers, the plan was discussed, 
and grew, until it became evident that Vanna, or Rose- 
Marie, as they were fond of calling her, would be very 
well looked after by the kindly-disposed fairies who had 
taken her in hand. 

Happier moods came to Betty with the resolute renun- 




ON BRIAR HILL 3OI 


ciation of her visionary dreams, there being something in 
the doing well of her humble work that imparted a serene 
content to her spirit. From her April-day face all its 
wonted shadows departed, and every day she grew more 
fair to see. 

She had submitted to sharing Vanna with her sisters ; 
but quietly she took upon herself much care for the neg- 
lected wardrobes of Vanna’s five brothers and sisters, about 
which she said nothing. This Percy and Gwin soon per- 
ceived, but they respected her silence, and made no com- 
ments, readily comprehending that she would prefer it to 
be so. Betty’s plans, they agreed, should not risk being 
spoiled by even the best intentioned interference. 

Neither to protest, nor share, was a considerable piece 
of self-denial on Gwin’s part, she being touched almost 
to tears at the sight of her high-bred beauty, as in her 
heart she fondly called Betty, with a coarse jacket on her 
knee, humbly setting patches in its defiant elbows. 

“These things ought to be sent home to-day,” said 
Betty one morning, indicating a pile of neatly folded gar- 
ments, the result of a week’s sewing. 

“Then you will have to take them,” said Gwin, “ for I 
have my hands full of other things.” 

“Very well,” answered Betty; and she proceeded to 
roll the clothing for Vanna and the mended jacket into a 
parcel of goodly size, with which burden she set out for 
the cabin. 

Mrs. La Guinga was pathetically grateful for the gifts, 
and left her wash-tubs under the trees to look on in un- 


3°2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


flagging admiration while Betty disrobed Vanna and pre : 
pared to invest her with the new garments. 

The snowy skirts were put on with considerable diffi- 
culty, as Vanna would persist in thinking every event in 
her small life a device for her especial entertainment, and 
either regarded the hems as something to be crammed 
into her mouth with both fists, or suddenly lopped over 
at the critical minute when it was necessary she should 
“ keep in position.” Other and frequent delays were oc- 
casioned by Betty interrupting the toilette to pet and 
fondle the pretty baby. 

As she sat with the plump, half-dressed child lying on 
her lap, coaxing its silky rings of hair into love curls on 
its forehead, a shadow darkened the doorway, and glanc- 
ing up, she met a flash of dark, bright eyes. 

So swiftly the vision passed, she could not be sure 
whether the quick doffing of the straw hat was a reality, 
or only an imagining. 

“ Oh !” exclaimed Mrs. La Guinga, her face shining 
with pleasure, “ it is the young gentleman. I must run 
and call my Carlo.” 

Betty gathered Vanna and the remainder of her attire 
up in her arms, and hastily retreated into the small ad- 
joining room, closing the door behind her. As she 
finished dressing the child, voices sounded outside the 
window which was at the back of the cabin, and she 
heard the stranger say : 

“ Well, my lad, have you. the bait ready?” 

From the thanks that followed, Betty was convinced 




that Carlo had performed his task faithfully, and was 
generously rewarded for his pains. 

“ Now then, Carlo, come, if your mother can spare 
you, and show me the way to the lake." 

“ Ah !” thought Betty. “ Now, we shall not dare to 
go there any more. I wonder what place he will leave 

uninvaded and free to us At least he has not found 

me in any troublesome plight, this time.!” 

“ I must run in and fetch my jacket,” exclaimed Carlo. 
“ The young lady was mending it for me, sir." 

“ Chatter-box !" thought Betty, blushing. “ You 
need n't proclaim the little deeds of my right hand. I 
can make myself ridiculous enough without help.” 

Mrs. La Guinga entreated the stranger to step in, and 
sit down until Carlo was ready. 

“ Thanks ; no,” answered that singularly pleasant 
voice. “ It would annoy Lady Bertha. I’ll wait here. 
Carlo won’t be a minute getting into his jacket.” 

Mrs. La Guinga uttered an ejaculation of bewilder- 
ment over the name bestowed upon her visitor, and evi- 
dently meditated a correction, but he cleverly drew her 
attention off by assuring her he would take good care of 
Carlo, and that she was not to be worried if he should 
borrow the boy all day. 

As for Lady Bertha herself, nothing could exceed her 
amazement at having this ‘ patent of nobility ” conferred 
upon her by that mysterious but not altogether unpleas- 
ant fisherman. 

At a subsequent visit made by herself and Gwin to the 
cabin, she found Mrs. La Guinga tireless in her praises 


of the stranger who had in many ways proved a discreet 
friend to her. 

On the table lay a fine string of fish he had left there 
only a few minutes before ; he employed Carlo every day' 
to carry his rod and basket ; he had sent a workman up 
from the village to mend the leaky, cabin-roof ; he had 
promised Vanna a pretty toy ; he was as good of heart, 
as he was handsome of face, and it was a sign of good 
fortune to meet such a face in the morning. 

“ Who is this shining light who promises to eclipse 
our * brief candle,’ I wonder,” said Gwin. 

“ I wonder,” echoed Betty, surprised to find that she 
felt almost guilty of a subterfuge in so speaking, when 
really she knew no more of him than Gwin herself. 

“ I wish mother would come home !” she thought, 
for her heart began to grow heavy with the memory of 
adventures that promised to have no end, and she longed 
for relief. 

June came ; the budding roses blossomed, the garden 
grew bright and gay with color, tempting golden bees 
and brilliant humming-birds with its exhaustless honey- 
cells ; June came, and brought the day for which Rose 
had watched, and waited impatiently. She came one 
morning to Persis, with a joyous face, begging her to shut 
her eyes up tight, and let herself be wheeled somewhere. 

“ Oh ! do, dear Percy,” she pleaded eagerly, seeing her 
sister hesitate. “It is only a little bit of a way, and I 
will be very, very careful.” 

Persis, seeing the coaxing little face and dancing eyes, 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


305 


consented, and faithfully kept her own shut until Rose 
cried excitedly : 

“ Now you may open them ! Look, Percy, look !” 

Percy opened her eyes, prepared to smile at some very 
small marvel, for Rose was great at discoveries, and had 
already found gold and diamond mines in bits of glisten- 
ing rock strewn about the paths, wherefore it was with 
surprise that she found herself under a great bush full 
of half-open, creamy-hearted, white roses. 

“ Why, this must be my own lovely rose of York!” 
she said, her cheeks rivaling the soft bloom of a neigh- 
boring blush rose, as she recognized it. 

“ Yes — the very one Archie gave you,” said Rose gayly. 
“Roy and I brought it, and planted it here, but we 
would not let you know until it told you who it was its 
own self.” 

“ I am glad to see it bloom again,” said Percy, remem- 
bering how so little while ago she dared not hope to see 
another summer. 

“So am I,” said Rose, “for — don’t you know? — 
mother promised us she would come with the roses.” 

Persis lay back in her chair silently enjoying the beauty 
and fragrance of her rose, and the little girl content that 
it should be so, sat on the turf, waiting, her chin propped 
on her small palm, her eyes fixed thoughtfully on the 
sky. 

“ Before the roses faded — that was what she said,” 
continued Rose, talking to herself. “ And I almost wish 
it was time for them to go. I shall be glad to see them 
die, this June. It seems so long to wait, and sometimes 


3°6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


I am — Oh, so home-sick to see her — sometimes ! . . . I 
wish I was that swallow, there in the sky. Oh, how fast 
I would fly, and fly to her — and I guess I should know 
just where to find her, — I’m sure I should. Oh, pretty 
swallow, do fly away over the sea to my dear mother, and 
tell her that her little girl is almost tired of waiting for 
her to come home !” 

She rambled on unconscious of a listener, but Percy 
heard her little sister’s child-prattle, and softly smiling, 
she said : — 

“ That’s a pretty thought, dear. If you will bring me 
my desk I will write it to mother, that she may know 
what her ‘ little girls ' are wishing for.” 

Rose, always a willing messenger, brought the desk, 
and stood at Percy’s elbow, looking over while she wrote, 
deeply interested in the proceeding, although as yet un- 
able to read except “ in print.” 

“ Can’t you think how to spell it ?” she asked once, 
seeing Percy pause to reflect ; and again, observing the 
many erasures and interlineations, she asked anxiously : 
“ Do you think mother will like it?” 

“ Listen, and see what you think,” Percy answered ; 
and she read aloud : — 

O, hasten Swallow, hasten in thy flight 
Beyond the sea, 

Where the dear mother waking, prays to-nigh 
And thinks of me ; 

And tell her that for her, in work or play, 

One little heart is hungry all the day. 

O, faster Swallow, speed thy purple wing 
O’er that bright way, 


ON BRIAR II ILL 


3°7 


And near her chamber-window softly sing 
At dawn of day. 

So the dear mother’s waking thought may be , 

A happy memory of Home, and me. 

Tell her the sun each day more golden burns ; 

That by the old # _ 

Brown porch, the tall white lilies silver urns 
Of sweets, unfold ; 

O, tell her, Swallow, happy June is come, 

And all the roses glow to greet her home. 

Tell her the summer days are bright, and long, 

As days can be ; 

And something sweeter, Swallow, be thy song 
For thought of me. 

But do not tell her of my home-sick pain, 

For when she comes — all will be well again. 

This plea of Rose’s was that evening enclosed in the 
letter which was to meet the mother on her landing. It 
was read aloud and praised — “ over-praised,” Percy said, 
as her verses were apt to be, by her loving critics, — but 
on this occasion she disclaimed the honor. 

“ It is Rose’s poem,” she said, and told them of her 
talk to the swallow, which had suggested it. 

“Yes,” Rose assented with amusing gravity. “That 
was just what I said — but I did n’t know that it made 
poetry, until Percy read it to me.” 


I 


3°8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


XXV. 

Garden Party. 

One morning the carrier-pigeon returning from Roy. 
flew in at the window of the girls’ room to be relieved of 
his mail. The ribbon fastening the billet beneath his wing 
was unbound, and the bird was fed and petted by way of 
reward. Betty, expecting only the usual “ I hear and 
obey,” leisurely opened Roy’s missive, glanced over it, 
and uttered an exclamation of surprise and dismay. 

Gwin, who was arranging some freshly cut flowers in 
the crystal vases on the muslin-draped toilet-table, dropped 
her roses, heedlessly crushing them as she turned to ask 
what had happened. 

She grew white, even to her lips, for Betty’s perturba- 
tion was evidence enough that the tidings were not good, 
and her thoughts instantly flying to Mrs. North, now on 
her homeward voyage, she stood breathless and trembling, 
with visions of ships foundering in storms at sea rising 
before her, and dreading to hear some “ bad news about 
mother.” 

Betty, not having lifted her eyes from the note, was 
calmly unconscious of Gwin’s panic. 

“ Hear this ! ” she said — as if Gwin was not all ears, 
“ except that a good part of me was fears ,” she told them 
afterwards. “We are going to receive a distinguished 
guest — to have greatness thrust upon us ! Roy writes : 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


309 


‘ Prepare for company. I have just met Miss Langdon, 
who told me she meant to drive out and visit you this aft- 
ernoon. She very frankly added that “ maybe she would 
stay to tea if she got an invite.” Send down a list of 
whatever you may need to grace the occasion by post, and 
I will attend to it. Expect me home early. — Roy.’ . . . 
There ! Is n’t that an enchanting prospect? ” 

“If you love me as I love you, she will not get the ‘ in- 
vite,’ as she calls it,” Gwin answered, very decidedly. “ I 
might bear up against a call, but not against a visitation.” 

“ Fie ! Winifred ; where is your sense of hospitality ? ” 

“ I guess it must be mislaid, — half of it, at least, for I 
feel equal only to that part of it which speeds the depart- 
ing guest. I could do that to perfection, dear.” 

“ Gwin, it won’t do for you to go on in this way. I am 
sure you will treat Lolly with perfect civility, and not let 
your dislike of her make the slightest manifestation.” 

Gwin met this exhortation with a merry, good-natured 
laugh. 

“Why, you darling ! ” she exclaimed, “/have no spe- 
cial feeling against Lolly Langdon ! On the contrary, if 
her society is not exactly improving, I find her immensely 
amusing. My distaste for her company was entirely a 
borrowed sentiment — a kind of sympathetic spasm, as 
people say of coughs and yawns. Let us receive her with 
all the honors, — consider her a — a blessing in disguise, 
and give her the ‘ invite.’ Roy must bring Lady-cake and 
macaroons; and Rose and I can gather plenty of wild 
strawberries, for the field is red with them.” 

“ Rhoda shall make waffles ; and, it you can spare me 


enough of the morning skimming, I will make some Itab 
ian cream,” added Betty. 

Gwin was in one of her gayest, most roguish 'moods 
that morning, and frolicked over the preparations in a 
manner that made Betty all the more careful and sedate. 

“We have provided only the cakes and comfits,” she 
said, when the arrangements for the tea were concluded. 
“ What can we do to entertain her ? ” 

“She generally takes that upon herself, don’t you 
think?” was Gwin’s response. “ But never mind ; leave 
her to me, my dear. I'll entertain her.” 

“ That is very nice of you, Gwin. But I might have 
known that you would do all in your power to make it 
pleasant ; you will sing too, won’t you ? ” 

“ If I get an ‘ invite,’ ” said the naughty Gwin, delight- 
ing to bring out Betty’s stately airs with her mischievous 
teasing. 

Four o’clock found the young hostesses waiting in the 
garden for their tardy guest, and Gwin was just asking, 
“ Why are her chariot-wheels so long in coming,” when 
an elegant basket-phaeton, “laden with sumptuousness,” 
rolled up to the gate. 

Miss Langdon drove the ponies ; beside her half-re- 
clined a languid young lady, who had an air of being in- 
dolently engrossed with her pink parasol ; in the rumble 
was perched a small and melancholy groom, whose tall 
hat and many buttons were evidently too much for his 
spirits. 

Lolly flung the ribbons to her diminutive attendant, 
gave him a brief order, which" presently caused him and 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


3 11 


the establishment to disappear as if by magic, jumped to 
the ground and fluttered her flounces vigorously ; while 
the languid young lady descended with slow, indifferent 
movements, as one in no hurry to encounter what must 
inevitably prove a bore. Careless of the trailing elegance 
of her costly skirts, she stood like a graceful, contemptu- 
ous statue, shielding her beauty with her parasol, while 
the girls advanced to meet them. 

“You see!” exclaimed Lolly with her usual effusive 
manner, “ we are actually billeted on you for tea ; so, be- 
fore I say a single how-d’ye-do I must expressly stipulate 
that you do n’t put yourselves out one bit for me. As ma 
says, I never can abide being made company of, and if I 
suspect such a proceeding I shan’t wait for Mapes to 
come back with the carriage, but ask Mr. Roy to escort 
us home at once. By the way, do let me introduce my 
dear friend — Ida Pelham.” 

Miss Pelham acknowledged the ceremony with the 
smallest possible of cool bows, and an inarticulate mur- 
mur which remotely suggested the words, “ delighted — 
pleasure after which exertion she put up her gold eye- 
glasses and leisurely surveyed each of the girls as they 
courteously welcomed her. 

“But, my dear girls, how are you, really, in this buried- 
alive place ? Pretty well ? You look so, too,” and Lolly, 
who considered defective eyesight an elegance worth af- 
fecting, unfurled her glasses also, and stared unblushingly. 
« My! you aren’t much like the girls at home, who are 
positively working themselves to mere shadows, to get 
ready for the watering places. Such a sight of dresses, 


3 12 


THE OLD HOUSE 


all tucked, and flounced, and fluted, you never laid eyes 
on. I am being got ready, too, for Saratoga. Pa says, 
for his part he likes the hotels there better than at the 
seaside, where there is nothing but fish, fish, fish, until 
you get fairly sick of the smell and sight — even of lobster 
salad ! But ma do n’t let me wear myself to death over 
my dresses. I think it is quite enough to have to stand 
up to be fitted, and give directions about the trimmings. 
That is the wearing part, though, — do n’t you find it so ? 
— to think up something entirely new ; for of course one 
doesn’t want one’s things exactly like the things one sees 
on everybody else. Who is going to look at what you 
have on, if half-a-dozen other people are wearing the 
same style of thing, I should like to know. It makes so- 
ciety so exhausting ! I suppose you do n’t go anywhere; 
this summer ? ” 

“ Not to the Springs. We prefer the mountains,” said 
Gwin. 

“ Winifred means that we are goingto stay here, among 
our own hills,” Betty quietly explained. 

Their plans evidently had small interest for Lolly. 

“Well, / wouldn’t miss the season at the Springs for 
anything, unless it was to go abroad. I think it’s a shame, 
but pa won’t liste)i to the idea of a trip to Europe — but 
we had such delightful times last year; hadn’t we, Ida? 
There are always such queer people to make fun of, and 
oh, such quantities of beaux ! I was nearly wild with 
disposing of my partners at every hop. And one makes 
such delightful acquaintances! Do you remember old 
Mr. Pope ? Was tit he delicious, Ida ? ” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


3*3 


“ No ; he was such a mouldy old character ! ” drawled 
Miss Pelham. “ Aw did n’t think him delicious at all.” 

“ Pshaw ! you ’re so critical and fastidious, dear. But 
even you can’t deny that Blakie Pope was nice ! He 
waltzed to perfection, and had heavenly eyes, now had n’t 
he, Ida?” 

“ Always reminded me of a preserved-ginger jar — same 
shade of blue.” 

“Upon my word, I believe you’re jealous of Blakie, 
Ida ! ” said Lollie, coquettishly. 

“ No occasion to be,” answered her dear friend. 
“ Blakie Pope’s an heiress-hunter. You won’t be the first 
one he has given a chance to decline the honor.” 

“Oh, I’m % veil aware that his attentions to a certam 
person have created a good deal of heart-burning ; but 
I’m too keen, my dear, to take all I hear for gospel truth. 
Blakie’s to be there again this season, I know, and, as ma 
says, we shall see what we shall see ; though I confess I 
don’t understand how we could help it, unless we were 
all of us blind, and then we could n’t see at all. But oh ! 
girls, I do hope,” and she clasped her hands with what 
she conceived to be a charming air of impulsiveness, 
“ that there will be a fancy-dress ball while we are there. 
Do tell me, what would you go as, if you were me? ” 

“ As Lolly Langdon,” Gwin promptly responded. 

“ O, my dear, you do n’t understand ! ” exclaimed Miss 
Langdon, in patronizing tones. “ One has to go in char- 
acter.” 

“ Tres bien!” drawled Miss Pelham, with transient 
animation, and a glance of amused approval at Gwin. 


THE OLD HOUSE 


3M 


“ My good creature, it is you who do n’t comprehend. 
Miss-ah-um-c^^, thinks you are a character ; and aw’m 
sure she’s right.” 

At that “absurdity,” as she was pleased to regard it, 
Miss Langdon gave herself over to laughter, declaring it 
was “ positively too funny.” 

“ But, dear me ! here I have been this ever so long, 
without inquiring for Miss North. How is the poor dear 
creature ? Mr. Roy tells me it agrees with her charm- 
ingly up here.” 

“ Yes,” Betty replied, smiling in spite of herself at the 
sparkle in Gwin’s eyes. “We will go to her, if you like. 
She is in the garden.” 

“ Oh, by all means.” Lolly assented, but without any 
affectation of eagerness. In a general way, she consid- 
ered the society of invalids a bore ; yet she would have 
felt slighted if Percy had not made her appearance on 
this occasion. 

“ How do you do? Delighted to see you !” she cried, 
as they drew near the plum-tree, in whose shadow Percy 
sat. “ Dear me, I had no idea I should ever see you 
looking so well again ! And out of doors too. Oh ! let 
me make you acquainted with my dear friend, Miss Pel- 
ham ; Ida, Miss North.” 

Miss Pelham put up her glass and went through her 
accustomed listless nod and murmur, while Lolly rattled 
on : 

“ Truly rural, isn’t it, Ida ? Must get stupid, though, 
in time. So you bring your sewing out here? Well, I 
suppose you can’t have very much to amuse yourselves 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


3 r 5 


with. I'm sure I don’t know how / should manage to 
survive a week ; it must be so lonely, especially in the 
evenings when one naturally expects crowds of callers, 
you know. But do n’t you hate to ruin your complexions 
with being out of doors so much ? I never will go out 
till after four o’clock — not even into the garden for a 
bouquet — without a veil and parasol ; and, dear me ! 
now that I look at you, how sunburnt you are.” 

“ We let the sun shower all his royal benefits upon us, 
and bask in his favors while we may,” Gwin replied. 
“We delight in his ardent attentions, something, I should 
think, as the Indian Princess must have done, who 
dreamed she was betrothed to the sun, and ever after 
lived true to her troth-plight. Was n’t it a beautiful idea ? 
And must it not have been a happy life — to dwell apart 
in her wigwam, and whenever the sunshine filled it, to 
feel that her lover was there ; and when the corn and 
fruit she had planted, ripened ready to be gathered, to 
believe that his love had watched over and blessed her 
harvest ?” 

Betty perceived that Gwin, penitent for her past naughti- 
ness, was striving to make amends, and thanked her 
with a grateful look. Miss Langdon, however, shrugged 
her shoulders with an indescribable air and arched her 
eyebrows at the legend, while Miss Pelham, raising her 
glasses, looked from Gwin to the sunshine, as if lazily 
trying to make out what it was all about. 

“ I must confess,” said Lolly, who usually addressed 
Gwin with a touch of conscious superiority in her ac- 
cents, “ it is not my idea of happiness. I think Indian 


3 i6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


romances are poky things anyway ; and I don’t see any 
reason why a girl who is engaged should shut herself up, 
and not receive attentions from anybody else. No, indeed! 
I think your Indian girl was a regular stupidi Winifred. 
Why— she could never expect to get married at all that 
way! She must have been crazy, don’t you think so, 
Ida?” 

“ Aw-can’t say ; — neva met an Indian in ma life.” 

Persis had it upon her lips to exclaim that it was the 
living for a glorious ideal which made the romance beau- 
tiful to them, — but thought better of it. Gwin colored a 
little, but the next moment laughed good-naturedly, and 
asked Lolly if she would not like to walk about, and see 
the views. Lolly assenting, they all strolled along the 
path, Betty pulling some of the choicest blossoms for her 
guests while she introduced them to favorite bits of 
landscape. 

“ I dote on Art !” Lolly announced, as they proceeded ; 
“ especially oil paintings, — but I must confess I never 
could see what people can find in water-colors, or nature, 
to go into raptures over, as some of them do. Can you, 
Ida ?” 

“ Neva tried. Always thought wata-colors insipid. 
Neva thought about nature, at all,” responded Ida in- 
differently. 

The lake, found more favor in Lolly’s eyes ; she pro- 
nounced it a romantic love of a spot for picnics, and 
moonlight walks. 

“ Oh !” said Gwin, turning prosaic with astonishing 
swiftness; “you wouldn’t think so at all, if you were 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


317 


once to try it for sentimental purposes. I assure you, 
the frogs croak so of a summer evening, all the tender 
sighs and things of that sort ‘ that make life so truly 
charming ’ — as Mrs. Skewton observed of thumbscrews, 
— would be quite overpowered and drowned !” 

“ Mercy !” exclaimed Loljy in disgust. “ Do let's get 
away from the nasty place ! Come girls.” 

“ Oh ! oh ! oh !” cried Rose, who had been peering 
about the roots of Paul’s tree, where she suspected a 
pretty squirrel of having built his nest. “ See what 
I’ve found !” 

In spite of Lolly’s screams and protestations, she ran 
towards them, bringing a pretty basket cunningly woven 
of green rushes, in which, with its roots embedded in 
moist wood-moss, was a little rare plant, bearing delicate 
white blossoms, which Betty at once recognized. 

“ I’ll wager you anything, some one has left this here 
for me ,” exclaimed Lolly, her fright changing to delight. 
“ I told half a dozen of our beaux that we were coming 
here to-day. Who could it be, Ida Charlie Ross ? or 
Press Lawton ? or, maybe, Gus ?” 

“ Here’s a card,” said Rose ; and Miss Pelham took 
the trouble to stoop and read the inscription. “For 
* Lady Bertha.’ ” 

Gwin glanced in amazement towards Betty, who an- 
swered with a blush which she could not interpret. 

“ How mysterious !” said Lolly disdainfully. “ Any- 
how, it’s plain it is meant for none of us. Put the thing 
where you found it, child, and do let’s go back ! It’s 
horrid here.” 


3*8 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ No, bring it home, Rose said Gwin, wondering at 
Betty’s silence. “ I think I know for whom it was in- 
tended.” And presently she made the opportunity to 
whisper in her sister’s ear. “ What does it mean, Betty ? 
Who can have sent it ?” 

“ Kush ! I am not quite sure,” was the faint answer ! 
and Betty turned to Lolly, leaving Ida to Gwin’s care. 

Miss Pelham thawed a trifle during this tete-a-tete , 
having taken quite a fancy to her bright young hostess. 

“ Bria-Hill seems to quicken people’s wits,” she said 
in reply to a gay sally from Gwin. “ Lolly ought to live 
here, a year or two.” 

Lolly’s dear friend made no pretence of concealing her 
contempt for that young person’s intellect. Gwin not 
knowing how to deal with this sort of conversation, 
turned the subject, observing : “ I suppose she is living 
now in what used to be our home.” 

“Not she’. Neva will, either. Haven’t you heard? 
Her father speculated,— went in too deep — tight place — 
had to raise money at any sacrifice. I heard papa say 
so.” 

“Do you mean he had to sell our — I mean — that 
place ?” 

“ Aha ! Odd, you did n’t know it. Loll says you were 
awfully cut up at her pa’s buying it. She's cut up her- 
self, that she is n’t going to live there. You should see 
her make beaux yettx to the young man of the family 
that bought it. But that bird ’ll never come out of the 
bush for her. Don’t breath it though, for it’s the only 
going to watch her little dodges. I should die of 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


3 J 9 


ennui, down there, if it wasn’t for Loll’s snares and 
delusions.” 

As Ida grew animated, Lolly reclining on Percy’s blue 
couch in the bay-window, affected something of her 
friend’s fine lady airs, which Mrs. Langdon thought “ so 
blaze and a-rA-tocratic.” 

“ However do you manage to exist all summer with- 
out croquet ?” she inquired. “ We do nothing but play, 
after the sun gets low enough, and I do admire the game. 
Why do n’t you have it up here ? You must be amazing- 
ly dull, I should think, all by yourselves.” 

“ We have a game we like much better,” said Betty. 
“ Roy made us some excellent bows and arrows, and set 
up a target for us in the field beyond, so we revived the 
old sport of archery, and are becoming pretty good marks- 
women. Would you like to go out, and try a match ? 
Shall I call Miss Pelham ?” 

“ No, thank you. I am much too lazy for anything 
that must be so much like work, — stringing the bows, 
and all that. I never think a game is any fun, unless 
there are plenty of gentlemen. And I don’t think Ida 
would. Is n’t she elegant ? I do n’t mean pretty , you 
know, though, to be honest, she thinks herself quite a 
beauty. But when we’re together, it’s very plain that 
sojne folks do n't think her so very superior in looks, or 
indeed in anything, though her' pa is e-^r-mously rich.” 

Betty was spared the embarrassment of answering, by 
Rhoda’s announcing that tea was served ; and she led 
the way back to the garden, with a little uncomfortable 
doubt, as to whether her guests, out of regard to their 


complexions, would not have been better pleased to have 
eaten comfortably and conventionally in the dining-room. 
The' sound of Roy’s voice reassured her ; he was safe to 
make everything go off well. Therefire with recovered 
serenity, and the high-bred air which never failed her, 
Betty conducted Lolly towards the garden seat, scarcely 
observing the group surrounding Percy, until Roy, hav- 
ing advanced to greet her companion, said : 

“ Betty, let me present to you — and to Miss Langdon 
— my friend Mr. Rutledge. Ned, my sister ; Miss Lang- 
don.” 

Betty looked up ; a faint, slow color flushed her cheeks, 
a brief smile trembled on her lips. She bent her head 
with gentle dignity, and her eyes fell before those of the 
fisherman, as he took her extended hand, and frankly 
said in his pleasant way : 

“ I think myself very happy, Miss Betty, to be per- 
mitted to assist at your garden fete 

Lolly and Ida were given the places of honor upon 
Roy’s right and left, and Mr. Rutledge was seated at 
Percy’s right hand, opposite Betty. Now that the pres- 
ence of two gentlemen altered the complexion of affairs, 
Miss Pelham dropped her listlessness, and her drawl, and 
became capable of opinions and vivacity, while Lolly 
turned giddy, and chattered incessant nonsense. 

Rutledge made himself agreeable without effort, though 
with a tendency to devote himself to the ladies at his end 
of the table, and when those ladies reviewed his merits 
at a later hour, two of them frankly agreed in finding 
him a delightful acquaintance, while Betty when urged 


ON BRIAR H ILL. 


3 21 


to express herself, could find nothing better to say, than 
that she “thought him rather nice.” 

“ Pray let me help you, Miss North,” he begged, as 
Percy presided over the tea tray. “ You’ve no idea what 
a useful sort of person I am, under clever direction.” 

Betty visited by a quick remembrance of how she had 
more than once put his power of usefulness to the proof, 
betrayed it in her changing countenance ; and he, divin- 
ing her thought, smiled across at her in a quiet, friendly 
way, and set himself the task of banishing all confusing 
memories. 

That he was quite successful appeared, when, at the 
arrival of the carriage, as they escorted the ladies out 
to it, he took his place by Betty’s side, and she forgot to 
retreat into the citadel of her dignity, as had always 
happened before, in their brief encounters. 

“Adieu!” said Miss Pelham, to the girls; and to 
Roy and his friend, “ Au revoir.” 

“ I don’t suppose I could endure to live up here, away 
from everybody, among these lonesome hills — indeed, I’m 
sure I should die of the blues, in a week ; but I do n’t 
think, upon my word, that I ever enjoyed a tea drinking 
visit so much in all my life,” said Lolly, as she gathered 
up the reins. “ Now remember, Mr. Roy, and you too, 
Mr. Rutledge, we shall expect you to return our visit. 
Shan’t we, Ida ? Come soon. By-by.’ 

“ Miss Langdon does n’t seem enamored of the hills,” 
said Mr. Rutledge, as the basket-phaeton whirled 
away. 

“She is not sufficiently intimate with them, yet. 


3 22 


THE OLD HOUSE 


They must be known to be appreciated,” Betty an- 
swered. 

“We have really had a surprise party,” Gwin was 
saying to Roy, as they walked in advance. 

“ It has been a day of surprises,” said Betty. 

“ In which I have played some little part,” added her 
companion. “ And I ought to beg your forgiveness, if 
it has been in any way, through me, an unpleasant one. 
When Roy asked me to join a garden-party at his house, 
I had not the remotest idea — or hope, that in one of his 
- unknown sisters I should find the Lady Bertha.” 


XXVI. 

Random Arrows. 

Gwin feeling that the duties of hostess were not ended 
so long as a guest lingered to be entertained, proposed 
adjourning to the archery ground, where a match more 
merry than skillful ensued. Betty and Gwin, having had 
the most practice, carried off the honors, and there was 
an exciting contest between them towards the close of 
the game. 

Percy sitting near, had woven a victor’s garland 
Rose supplying the flowers, and when, to the surprise of 
all, Ned Rutledge shot the conquering shaft and won the 
match for his side — consisting of Betty and himself— 


ON BRIAR II I L L. 




3 2 3 


Rose brought the wreath suspended on the successful 
arrow, and laid them at his feet. 

“ Honor to whom honor is due,” said Ned, gallantly 
presenting the trophy to Betty. “ It was your skill, more 
than my lucky hit, that deserved to win. I hope in our 
next game I may do you more credit — I may join in a 
* next game ’ some evening, may I not, Miss Betty ?” 

Too soon the dews began to fall, the early stars to 
glimmer in the warm dusk of twilight. 

“ Percy ought not to stay out longer,” said Roy. 

“ Just wait a minute,” urged Gwin, who was fastening 
a tag of paper to her arrow-head. Seeming to aim at a 
star twinkling almost above them, she drew the string 
and sent the shaft flying into space. 

“What are you doing ?” her brother asked. . 

“ Inventing improvements on the game ; shooting ran- 
dom darts, in point of fact. You know 

‘ There’s many a shaft at random sent, 

Finds mark the archer little meant.’ 

I am illustrating a poem, my dear boy.” 

“ You will never find your arrow again, little girl.” 

“ But some one else may. That’s the improvement. 
Do n’t you see what a grand game it will make ? By 
shooting random arrows with scraps of ‘great truths’ 
and comforting messages on bits of parchment fastened 
to them, we can scatter good words broadcast, which may 
come to be found by the very persons who have need of 
them. It is a rule,” added Gwin, “ that we must each 
hunt up or invent our own messages, and shoot our own 
arrows.” 


3 2 4 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“ A very clever improvement, Miss Gwin,” said Ned. 

“ And it would be a pleasant episode if one should have 
out of your poetic game, a poetic experience, and some 
day find one's message safe ‘in the heart of a friend.’ ” 

“ That — for your appreciation,” said Gwin, offering an 
arrow and a slip of parchment. “Try your luck, and see 
what comes of it.” 

Ned after a moment’s reflection, wrote a line on the 
slip. 

“Sign your name,” Gwin suggested, “or you may 
never know whether the heart of your friend receives 
it.” 

“ Edward Rutledge ” being duly appended, Betty was 
requested to make the message fast to the shaft which, 
thus weighted, speedily shot out of sight. 

“ I think the friend you hope to reach must dwell in a^ 
constellation,” Betty remarked as it sped from the string. 

“You are quite right, she does,” responded the archer 
with a gay glance at the group of sisters. 

In the porch he took his leave. 

“ The pleasantest hour must end ; Herrick and experi- 
ence together teach us that ‘ old Time is still a-flying,’ ” 
he said, very frankly regretful over the fact. “ I have 
had many delightful days among these hills of yours, but 
none so charming as this.” 

“ Do n’t forget then, that it can be continued at your 
pleasure,” said Roy. “We are always ‘ at home,’ not 
only literally, but to you.” 

Of this privilege, Ned Rutledge generously made the 
most, and the girls at first kindly disposed toward him as 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


3 2 5 


being Paul Hervey’s cousin, soon welcomed him for his 
own sake ; while with Miss Minty, who liberally kept the 
spirit of her promise to Mrs. North, he was entirely ac- 
ceptable when her penetration had weighed and found 
him ‘ good as gold, all the way through.' 

“ My sakes !” she proclaimed, “ I’m gettin’ to be as 
motherly as an old hen, a-bustlin’ about, an’ lookin’ after 
you young folks ! What’s more, I declare for’t, I like it. 
Never was a better brood for the fussiest of biddies to 
manage !” 

Ned’s charm of manner speedily banished all sense of 
strangeness and formality. He bestowed the title of 
auntie upon Miss Marigold who liked it, and looked after 
him on the strength of it ; he elected himself * house- 
friend ’ to Sweet Briars, and, dropping ceremony, ran in 
on all manner of small errands, when his wood and mount- 
ain expeditions led him past its gate. He adopted every 
interest in which the girls were engaged, and particularly 
that which he called the Cause of the La Guingas. He 
helped Gwin project an orchard that was to exceed for 
beauty and fruit any orchard ever known, promised her 
fine scions in their season, and taught her to bud and 
graft ; his game bag often contained beside a brace of 
birds for Percy, new roots for the heath ; he was taken 
into Rose’s service and discovered one morning on a 
ladder, constructing an addition to her dove-cote which 
the increasing family rendered necessary. He even joined 
in the glad anticipations of Mrs. North’s return, and con- 
structed an arch of flowers over the gate, and brought 
fruit and game, by way of celebrating her home-coming. 


326 


THE OLD HOUSE 


What a joyous day it was, when at last it came, and to- 
gether they waited for the hour that should give her back 
to them. 

In the dim, drowsy quiet of dawn, when the dewy 
white roses leaning in at her open window, shook out 
their rarest odors, while Persis lay wrapt in a happy half- 
dreaming, half-waking sense of some great gladness over 
which the meadow-lark who seemed to be in the secret 
warbled his most rapturous flute-like song, as he soared 
heavenward, Gwin danced on bare white feet through the 
curtained door-way, her hair still in a golden confusion 
of dream-knots as she called the tangle, and laughter and 
glee in her voice as she ecstatically announced, 

“ Oh ! Percy — Percy — this is the day of all our lives ! 
Mother is coming home !” 

Betty followed with the sedater step belonging to her 
years, joy adding a new charm to her loveliness ; and 
Rose, awakened by the gay voices, came pattering in, in 
her night-gown, found them camping out on Percy’s bed, 
and climbing up without waiting for an invitation, nestled 
among the pillows to fall fast asleep in a minute. The 
morning sped in the happy work of decorating the rooms 
with flowers, preparing the banquet, and helping Ned put 
up the arch at the gate, which took so much time that 
their informal lunch came off late. Ned was invited to 
the banquet, but he generously declined. 

“ Thank you — no,” he said. “ You will want your 
mother all to yourselves at first. But if you will let me 
come for an hour in the evening, I do n’t think I have the 
strength of mind to stay away longer.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


-327 


The last thing to be done was to “ make themselves 
beautiful for mother " — -as if there was any need ! — and 
they flocked into the porch just as a sound of rapid wheels 
came up the road. The whole West blushed with a soft 
roseate cloud in which the young moon shewed her faint, 
golden horn, lighting up Rose who, parched upon the 
gate, watched and waited, calling in happy tones, “ moth- 
er dear !” 

It was like her sweet evening call to the echo ; but it 
was not the echo that answered in that dear, glad voice 
— in those fond familiar words : 

“ My little girls V* 

The flower-crowned banquet under the plum-tree was 
a gratifying success, so far as Mrs. North's enjoyment of 
it went ; but her daughters could not eat for joy at hav- 
ing her home once more. Their feast was just to sit 
and look at her who, with all the brightness come back 
to her eyes, and the soft bloom restored to her cheeks, 
was “too beautiful and too good to be true." 

They lingered ovej* the feast, until the fire-flies came 
out in the summer dusk, making the dark fields glitter as 
they spun their mazy dance ; then the lamps were lighted 
and the mother was led in-doors, that the dear face might 
not a moment be lost to her children’s fond eyes. 

There was much to tell, much to hear ; but the most 
startling, important, joyful news, was yet to be imparted. 

“ I believe coming home will do me more good, than 
the going away said Mrs. North, sitting beside Percy, 
and taking her hand. “ Yet something very blessed hap- 
pened to me in my absence, — something that gave me 


328 


THE OLD HOUSE 


back a hope I had quite put away out of my life. We came 

home through , expressly that I might see Doctor X., 

who is so successful in his treatment of diseases like 
yours, Percy. I consulted him about you and he thinks 
it possible that you may be much benefited — my faith is 
the stronger, since I find your health so improved. But 
I have more to tell you ! Mrs. Yorke is so delighted with 
the hope, that she insists upon taking you to the city for 
two or three weeks, that Doctor X. may see you, and 
be able to give a decided opinion. She engaged rooms, 
and made all the arrangements before we left. You will 
feel brave enough to undertake the journey,, will you not, 
dear, with such a hope ?” 

“ I feel brave enough to undertake anything you may 
wish, mother,” Percy answered fondly pressing the hand 
that clasped hers ; and she was brave enough to hide 
every trace of the reluctance she felt at leaving home, 
and being again parted from her mother. 

That night Mrs. North’s room became a confessional, 
in which each of her darling penitents had some special 
confidence to impart. 

Rose brought her Flower Diary, and was pardoned for 
every nettle in the collection, with a kiss. Gwin had a 
budget of home news in which Ned Rutledge was intro- 
duced before his time, for he appeared later according to 
his promise. He figured in Gwin’s account as “Paul’s 
cousin,” “ the son of the gentleman who really owns our 
old home,” “ Miss Minty’s favorite,” and “ a splendid 
fellow, mother, whom Roy likes next to Archie.” 

Lastly came Betty. 




ON BRIAR HILL. 329 


“ Well, dear, do you bring me a Flower Diary, too ? 
I hope it holds few thorns,” said Mrs. North, regarding 
her daughter with some anxiety.”" 

“ I hardly know, mother,” said Betty, “some joys are 
so briary it is hard to distinguish between the bram- 
bles.’' 

“ I find my little girl grown womanly — changed. Her 
face is sometimes shadowed with a strange trouble, and 
sometimes glows with a strange light. Can she tell 
mother why it is ?’’ 

Betty drooped her head, and answered slowly, — 

“ I have been troubled — first, because I could not do 
anything of which I dreamed. My efforts were failures 
— all my grand castles came tumbling to the ground. 
And beside, I got into a silly scrape, and foolishly kept it 
to myself ; then it repeated itself, and I could n’t bear to 
speak, but I was very much vexed — at least, worried, 
though it was all my fault, — and I shut myself up, to 
avoid anything of the sort happening again.” 

Betty then related the history of her adventures and 
the rescues provided by the fisherman, who turned out to 
be Ned Rutledge. 

“ It is such a relief to have it off my mind,” she said in 
1 conclusion. 

“ And to me to find your wolf turn out such a well 
conducted lamb,” said Mrs. North. “Was he responsi- 
ble for the mysterious basket, that so puzzles Gwin?” 

“ Yes, mother. He confessed to that, and begged par- 
don if it vexed me. He had overheard some sentence of 
Gwin's, accusing me of an ambition to play Lady Bertha, 


33 ° 


THE OLD HOUSE 


as he passed us in the woods unseen. He knew no other 
name for me then. His excuse for the basket was his 
fear that his presence had banished me from our favorite 
haunts, and he signified in a little note hidden among the 
moss, that he would never intrude again. That was 
all.” 

Mrs. North doubted if it was quite all, but she forbore 
to question what perhaps Betty herself was yet in igno- 
rance of. With almost painful interest, however, she 
studied Gwin’s “ splendid fellow,” and her heart was much 
lightened in the process. 

It being decided that Percy was to go, for the next 
week every one was in a bustle of preparation, and Ned 
complained that he was “ put into corners, and otherwise 
treated with indignity,” when he ventured to appear.. 

“ That is because we can’t be bothered just now,” Gwin 
exclaimed. 

“ A commanding genius would make me useful, even 
in such an emergency. Hercules did not disdain to spin 
on a distaff to pleasure Queen Omphale, and I might hold 
yarn to perfection, if somebody I know would condescend 
to wind.” 

“ When we have a use for yarn, we will convert you in- 
to a reel, but at present you are superfluous in that capac- 
ity.” 

“ Then I will escort Ro3e down to look after our god- 
daughter,” said Ned, who took Gwin’s mischief in good 
part, and evidently enjoyed a merry wrangle with her. 

Betty stitched assiduously at Percy’s traveling dress, 
while Gwin devoted her energies to the fluting of the ruf- 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


33 1 


fles on sundry dainty white wrappers for her sister, as- 
serting that it was reward enough for broiling herself over 
such work to know that “ Percy would be the loveliest pa- 
tient ever seen, and the doctor would not have the heart 
to pronounce against her when he beheld her in all those 
captivating furbelows.” 

Not until Percy was gone did Mrs. North venture to 
tell the whole of her good news, — that it was more than 
possible she might in time be fully restored to health and 
activity. The suspense of the next three weeks was hard 
to bear — so hard indeed, that Gwin almost wished her 
mother had kept the hope a secret from them, until the 
best, or worst, was known. Cautiously worded letters 
came from Mrs. Yorke, giving them no reason for either 
hope or despair. “ We must wait still a little longer,” she 
told them, “ and be patient. The Doctor says nothing as 
yet.” 

Gwin, falling into a nervous, irritable state of mind, 
pronounced patience impossible, and Betty, once the im- 
patient one, now became the consoler, and was so sweet 
and gentle in her efforts to soothe, that Gwin burst out 
frankly with, 

“ I do n’t deserve that you should take so much trouble 
for me. I know I am behaving abominably ! ” 

“ You are too hard on yourself sometimes, dear.” 

“ Not a bit of it. I know my faults ! I am too easy 
and careless, too pleasure-loving, too much pleased with 
a gleam of sunshine to-’day, or a foolish rose to-mon 
row ! ” 

“ O, Gwin, you darling, silly girl ! Was it not that very 


33 2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


blessed trait of yours that helped us over our most briary 
times ? ” 

But Gwin would listen to no good of herself. 

“ Well — it may serve for days of deep affliction, per- 
haps ; but it won’t do at all for days of prosperity. I 
don’t believe much good fortune is good for me, either ; — 
in the midst of silken ease, I lose my courage ; I grow 
superstitious ; I fancy Percy will not be permitted to re- 
cover, because I don’t deserve so much happiness.” 

“ Whichever way it turns out, Gwin, Percy will be the 
first to say, that ‘so, it is best.’ You know she believes 
these things are all ‘ a part of the lesson,’ ” Betty answered 
with cheerful serenity ; but secretly she conspired with 
Roy and Ned to provide such diversion for poor Gwin as 
should keep her from brooding over her anxieties. 

On the afternoon of the day in which the decisivealetter 
from Persis was looked for, Gwin, restless, fitful, by^turns 
gay and miserable, could endure the suspensex-of sitting 
afld waiting no longer. 

“ I know I ought to be ashamed of myself,” sheUhon- 
estly confessed. “ I never behaved so ill in all my life, 
and I never mean to again, after this is over, — buUnow — ■ 
I think I will put on my hat and walk down totfFneetiJRoy. 
I can't sit and wait ! ” 

It was yet an hour too soon tovlool<*for Roy, but»as she 
strolled down the slope the air and sunshine cheerecMier. 
Presently sitting down under a wayside oak, she amused 
herself with the last year’s acorn-cups that strewed the 
bank, playing “jack-stones” with them, and thoughtfully 
“skipping ” them into the wild mountain brook that ran 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


333 



purling through the ravine at her feet, its borders bristling 
with lance-like reeds. 

It was such a pretty little stream, and sang its low song 
so pleasantly, Gwin was wooed out of her maze of hopes 
and fears to notice it at last. 

“Where do you come from, I wonder ! ” she exclaimed. 
“You run away among your pretty green banks, as 
if you were glad to escape from something ; or, like me, 
you could not rest and wait. I have half a mind to ex- 
plore your banks — yes ! and I will, for there’s plenty of 
time, and a scramble will do me good.” 

Accordingly, she followed its windings along reedy 
banks, gay with wild iris and water weeds, treacherous 
with g^reen, slippery mosses ; over gray ledges of rock ; 
through thickets of brambles, that clung to her with all 
their thorns ; now where mimic cascades tumbled foam- 
flecked and seething over the jagged rocks ; now where 
the waters crept black and sluggish under the shade ot 
the wildwood. Like many another explorer, she did not 
find what she went in search of, but she discovered some- 
thi ng else. 

At first she thought it a white wild flower blossoming 
among the sedges where the brook widened into a pool 
of clear still waters, — an odd, winged sort of a flower, 
which by reason.of its oddity was worth some trouble to 
gather. She crept around over the oozy, boggy edges, 
and leaning cautiously forward, caught at and pulled 
away from among the reeds, no rare flower, but an arrow, 
with a bit of parchment fluttering at its head. 

“ I felt,” said Gwin afterwards, when she could afford 


334 


THE OLD HOUSE 


to laugh at the story, “ like the eagle in the fable, who 
recognized his own cast-off feathers on the arrow that 
gave him his death- wound.” 

But she did not laugh there in the dim woods, as she 
read on the slip the message Ned Rutledge had sent to 
the heart of a friend, — 

“Hope the best; get ready for the worst ; and then 
take what God sends.” 

“ I was doing just the reverse — fearing the worst, and 
loath to take it. Ned is right. It is the only way,” she 
reflected, turning her steps homeward. She had not long 
to wait, for half an hour before they dared to look for 
him, Roy came galloping up to the gate, waving an open 
letter over his head, and calling out to them joyfully, — 

“ Good news- — glad tidings — all is well ! ” 

It was true ! Percy was promised health and strength. 
She wrote ; 

“ The doctor gives me half a year to accomplish my- 
self in the art of walking. Energetic babies, he says, do 
it in less time, but they have strong backs, which I 
have n’t, and that makes a difference in their favor. He 
orders me to expect to improve slowly, and exhorts us to 
patience and faith, on the ground that nothing in the 
world can be well done without both. I think I shall not 
fail in either, being resolved to carry myself with grace 
when once more I can go alone.” 

Ned Rutledge, as welcome as ever to Sweet Briars since 
the mother’s return, appeared one bright evening in the 
garden, and meekly petitioned Mrs. North : 

“ Please, may I have some tea? I am half-famished.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


335 


“ My dear young person,” said Gwin, “you are dread- 
fully unceremonious ! Mother, we ought to take back the 
inch ; do n’t let him have any sugar.” 

“ Ought n’t I to have double allowance,' Mrs. North, 
when Mistress Gwin is of the company ? I never like my 
tea a la Russe, with a slice of lemon in it. But come, 
Mistress Gwin, sign a truce with me, and help me get a 
peep at those carefully guarded treasures,” motioning 
toward Betty, who had closed her portfolio on his ap- 
proach. 

“ Bettine, do n’t make a mystery of your craft. Let us 
have the benefit of Mr. Rutledge’s views.” 

“ Mr. Rutledge has none. He simply asked permission 
to see Miss Betty’s.” 

Disdaining to seem to set any value on what she held - 
valueless, Betty reluctantly gave her sketches to be exam- 
ined by the one of all others from whom she would have 
chosen to conceal them. 

He passed with brief scrutiny the large drawings, re- 
plying to Gwin’s questions that Miss Betty’s pencil was 
clever and correct, but he doubted if her talent lay in that 
line. A sheet covered with grotesquerie arrested his at- 
tention ; he placed it on the garden table, studied it a 
while in silence, and finally pronounced upon it with en- 
thusiasm. 

“ Here is genius indeed ! What exquisite fancies ! One 
would think they were designed by the court-painter to _ 
Oberon ! Miss Betty, you should devote your pencil to 
the illustration of legends, fairy tales, and wonder horns. 


33 6 


THE OLD HOUSE 


You would make a publisher’s fortune — not to speak v of 
your own.” 

Mrs. North moving to go in-doors, Betty collected the 
drawings, and followed with her portfolio, declining Ned’s 
offer of assistance. 

“ You never permit me to be of the least service to you, 
Lady Bertha,” he said with gentle reproach, having fol- 
lowed her intp the sweet briar scented library. 

Only when she alone could hear did he call her by that 
name, and it set her heart fluttering with timid joy. She 
answered softly : 

“Do I not? You forget. Since before I knew you, I 
have been receiving help of you, — and to-night the great- 
est. A word of yours has opened a new world to me — 
has taught me how I may help myself.” 

He looked pleased, yet mystified ; but by dint of a word 
or two he caught her meaning. 

“ Oh, you mean about the illustrations ? Would you 
really undertake it ? ” eagerly. 

“ If I dared to think myself clever enough ” 

“ There is no sort of doubt about that ! If you will 
trust me with one of those sheets covered with what you 
call trifles — though I venture to disagree with you, there ! 
— I will soon prove to you that my judgment is really 
worth something — sometimes.” 

“ I never doubted it.” 

“ Then why are you never quite friendly with me, Lady 
Bertha ? ” 

“Ned, where are you?” called Roy from the hall. 
“ Percy is waiting for a game of chess.” 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


337 


“ You will trust me with it, then? ” asked Ned. 

Betty’s answer was the offered sketches. He stooped 
an instant over the delicate hand that held the paper, 
then turned to obey Roy’s summons, leaving Betty in a 
dazzle of glittering hopes and happy dreams. 

When next he came, not finding Betty in the house, he 
searched through the garden for her. 

“ You ran away from me, Gwin declares,” he began, 
meeting her in the Poet’s Walk, among the tall, blossom- 
ing ranks of the hollyhocks. 

“From you and fate,” Betty admitted, laughing and 
trembling. “ I can’t imagine how the ancients ever 
brought themselves to question the Oracles. You know 
you hold my fate on your lips.” 

“ It is rather you who hold mine on yours, Lady Ber- 
tha,” he answered, as they paused in the Bower of Clytie, 
where the mischievous Cupid forever took aim with his 
fatal arrow. Perceiving her distress at this perversion of 
her meaning, Ned generously hastened to add in his usual 
manner : “ But you ran away from a kindly oracle this 
time. I have only gopd news. My father nobly consents 
to be the publisher whose fortune you are to make, you 
remember. I accept you as my successor, Miss Betty, for 
hitherto I have done most of this work for him. He pur- 
poses to bring out an elegant, holiday edition of Wonder- 
tales, provided I agree to select and translate them, and 
you sign articles to furnish designs for the illustration of 
the same. I have committed myself to the arrangement ; 
and the project waits for your decision.” 

“ If I dared to undertake it ! ” exclaimed Betty. 


33§ 


THE OLD HOUSE 


“You don’t appreciate your best work. But there is 
no hurry. Before you trouble yourself to decide, let me 
bring you two or three translations, and try your skill. 
You are sure to succeed.” 

Betty consented to this arrangement, and the results 
justified Ned’s prophecy. For the project, which was one 
of his own devising, he felt himself repaid by the daily 
growth of friendliness between them. 

The library became Betty’s atelier , and coming hither 
one day to bring her a sketch of costumes for an Icelandic 
legend, Ned was encountered by a joyful announcement 
that Archie Yorke was coming home. 

“The news makes you very happy, Miss Betty?” he 
said, regarding her bright face, gay with dimpling smiles. 

“ Very. He belongs to us — in a way.” 

“ My heart’s desire is to be fulfilled ! ” cried Gwin. “ I 
have always wanted you two to know each other, and 
now, at last, you will meet.” 

“ Unfortunately, I fear not,” said Ned, quietly. “ You 
say he comes in October ? But my holiday will be over 
then, and I shall be gone.” 









ON BRIAR HILL. 


339 


XXVII. 

Gala Days. 

On a lovely autumn afternoon, when the skies were 
serenest blue, the sunshine brightest gold, the air mild 
and still, the hush scarcely broken by the rustle of thq 
leaves, or the chirp of the few late lingering birds, Archie 
Yorke returned to his old friends at Sweet Briars. 

They knew he was coming, and the moment he ap- 
peared at the gate, they ran to give him a warm greeting. 
Archie, grown something taller, and more manly, yet 
retaining all his gay, familiar ways, was among them in 
an instant, affectionately kissing them all as Roy himself 
might have done, and exclaiming, — 

“ But how my sisters have grown ! Even little Rose, 
here, is quite a formidable young lady. Has she put out 
any thorns, yet ?” 

“ Plenty. But do you make it a principle never to 
return borrowed articles ?” 

“ Not my sisters, Bettine — especially when they compel 
me to be both fond and proud of my possessions. But 
where is Percy?” His glance roving quickly away, dis- 
covered her advancing in her garden-chair. 

“ Ah ! there she is — let me go to her !” 

«• No, no !” urged the girls in a breath. “ She remem- 
bers what you once wrote, and has set her heart on 
coming to meet you at the gate.” 

She came smiling, and holding out her hand. 

Archie bent over her, and simply spoke her name. 


THE OLD HOUSE 


34 ° 


“ This is the utmost I can do yet, Archie.” 

“ And you do it for me ! Dear, brave Percy ! Ht>\v 
you have suffered,” and remembering the bright young 
beauty he had last beheld her, his lips quivered and a 
mist blinded his eyes. 

, “ Let us not think of that — I was helped to bear it, 
and now it is over,” she answered cheerfully. “ But this 
is like the reward that comes to good children at the 
end of story-books. We are made so happy, to have you 
back again, Archie.” 

“ If only Ned could be here with us,” said Gwin “ what 
a festival time it would be !” 

As if her wish was a spell, Ned soon came on a brief 
visit, to bring an important piece of news , he was “ com- 
missioned to offer Roy a position in his father’s publish- 
ing house.” 

“ Not a word, my dear fellow !” he said as Roy wrung 
his hand. *' I am looking out for my father’s interests — 
indeed, for my own, 1 may say, since I am to be admitted 
to the firm at New Year’s — as well as yours. Do n’t 
thank me Mrs. North, and do n’t feel hard towards me, 
for taking Roy away from you.” 

*' He’s an inconsistent creature,” said Gwin. “ He let 
Betty express her gratitude, and enjoyed it so much I 
believe he even ‘ wished there was more ’! ” 

All through that bright October weather, Archie was 
sure to appear, gay and fresh as the air of the hills, with 
some holiday plan to carry out. He studied the capaci- 
ties of Percy’s garden-chair — he would on no account 
have her left out of his expeditions, — and deciding that 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


34 1 


she had outgrown them, he contrived, in lieu of it, an 
easy, cushioned saddle with back and foot-rest which he 
rigged upon Roy’s pony for her use. 

“ It is a queer way 'of getting about,” he admitted; 
“ but Percy will find it easy, and we can have her with 
us on all our tramps. Rose and I are in league to ex- 
plore these old woods, thoroughly ; we intend to ‘ pluck 
out the heart of their mystery’ to discover all their chest- 
nuts, butternuts, and hickories, and to lay in a store, like 
the squirrels, for winter use. Rose is also going to liber- 
ate all the rabbits and other small deer that may have 
got caught in the snares naughty boys delight to set. 
We expect to come home laden with treasure, but we 
can’t go without Percy, Bettine and Gwin to cheer and 
share our labors.” 

Percy decided that her saddle was so comfortable its 
queerness did not matter, and as Archie always walked 
by her side, leading the pony, and by his care of her mak- 
ing her feel quite safe, she soon took great pleasure 
in these outings. 

The woods that Betty and Gwin had seen in their lush 
summer verdure, full of dim vistas, and mysterious whis- 
perings, dark, cool and green, had taken on new beauties 
with their splendid autumn liveries of crimson, purple 
and gold ; and many of the brilliant leaves had drifted 
down letting the warm sunshine in upon the soft, dry 
mosses and fallen nuts. Prickly chestnut burs opened 
by the frosts revealed their glossy brown treasures; 
scraggy butternuts, and walnuts in their husks were 
plentifully scattered under the trees. 


34 2 


THE OLD HOUSE 


Shawls were spread for PersTs on some mossy knoll 
where the sun shone warmest, and while she rested, and 
Rose filled her basket, the others gathered and brought 
her fringed gentian as blue as the October skies, pale, 
wild asters, golden rod, and all the late blooming wild 
flowers, or collected delicate blanched and amber-hued 
ferns for winter bouquets. 

When the shadows grew long, the gay cavalcade 
moved homeward, waking the echoes of the forest glades 
with the pleasant sound of glad voices and light laughter ; 
pausing by some clear stream to let' the pony drink and 
gather the coral clusters of the mountain ash to wreathe 
in his bridle ; passing by the lake to show Archie and 
Percy “ Paul’s tree thence up the slope by an easy, 
winding path, and home to the gate in time to watch to- 
gether in the golden gloom the first star light its glim- 
mering lamp on the edge of some crimson cloud. 

The days had gone on with change after change, from 
glory to glory, until the beautiful autumn was ended. 
The brown leaves' lay buried deep under snow drifts, the 
mountain streams, no longer singing their songs, or 
fretting in their rocky channels, were fast chained in icy 
fetters, and the gladdest season of the year was at hand ; 
the holidays in which Roy would come home, bringing 
Ned. to help at the merry-making. 

In those days Rhoda dwelt by herself in a bower of 
puddings, cake and frozen poultry, and whenever the 
kitchen door was opened, odors of sweet savor were 
wafted through the house as if a gale from the Spice 
Islands had lost its way, and taken refuge there. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


343 


Christmas greenery, with its aromatic fragrance like a 
perfumed message from the woods, transformed the 
little parlor, garlands still sparkling with frosty sheen 
and gay with scarlet berries, were already hung about 
the bay-window, where Percy rested from her labors, 
while Betty helped Gwin festoon the last wreath of 
delicate ground pine about the chimney-piece. That 
done they came and sat down, calling their work finished. 

A wonderful sleet storm was beating outside, tinkling 
against the window panes like peals of silver fairy-bells, 
while its dainty witch-work was making all the world of 
bare trees and leafless shrubs beautiful against the mor- 
row. 

“ Every bush and spray will be hung with gems that 
will flash like diamonds in the sunshine,” said Gwin. 
“ It is too bad though that we can’t expect Roy and the 
others, in all this storm,” she went on, trying to peer out 
into the night. “ I hope it will be pleasant to-morrow. 
I would n’t miss our Christmas dinner at Ned’s, for any- 
thing. Only think, we shall really set foot in the dear 
old home, once more, — and it won’t hurt — either !” 

One little year ago, how dreary we should have thought 
this storm,” mused Betty. “ Do you remembef our last 
New Year’s eve?” 

“ When it stormed, and we were miserable ?” said 
Gwin. “ Yes, we agreed to each bring royal gifts to our 
queen— that meant you , mother !— It was Percy who 
proposed it, ‘ gold, frankincense, and myrrh ; ’ and we 
said we would.” 

“ And you kept your promise, my dear.” 


“ Ah ! no, mother. That is, Bettine has ; and Percy 
always did ; but I have n’t. I have been wasting my time 
in the markets, searching for a superior article — instead 
of bringing that which I held in my hand. But you know, 
mother,” said Gwin, laying her curly head on her mother’s 
knee, and laughing up at her with her blue, loving eyes, 
*'you learned how to be patient long ago ; and for me 
there is always this comfort — it is never too late to 
mend.” 

Out from his nest beneath the eaves of the carved 
Swiss clock darted a cuckoo, and nine times uttered his 
musical note. Scarcely had he ceased, when under the 
window arose the strains of a quaint carol, blending with 
the storm. The “ noel ” drew nearer ; ended. A pause 
ensued ; the door opened, and three representatives of 
good St. Nicholas entered. 

“ Which was who,” nobody could discover, for the 
three jolly, white-bearded, red faces were crowned alike 
with wreaths of green holly, the three portly figures were 
dressed alike in ermined blouses, and huge boots, and the 
three pairs of shoulders bent under goodly hampers 
brimming with mysterious parcels. Silently and intent 
upon their work, they went about distributing Christmas 
boxes and gifts of which Rhoda, who was summoned to 
behold this strange sight, received her share. 

At length one beneficent saint betrayed himself to 
Percy by offering her a tiny casket in which gleamed a 
ring set with a jewel like a dewdrop and having two 
names and a date engraven within its hoop ; another 
revealed himself to Betty by presenting to her a sumptu- . 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


345 


ous volume containing a manuscript copy of Comus, with 
water color illustrations in which The Lady was a por 
trait of herself, the fly leaf bearing the legend “ To Lady 
Bertha, from the artist while Roy so far forgot hirm 
self, being behind his mother’s chair, as to stoop and 
kiss her. The mummers departed to lay aside their masks, 
and in their stead presently appeared three hungry young 
gentlemen clamorous for the supper already prepared 
by Rhoda. 

“ You’ll let us stay till the cuckoo gives us leave to wish 
each other a merry Christmas, will you not?” Archie 
petitioned, and Mrs. North consenting, they all gathered in 
the bright parlor, where however the circle soon drifted 
into groups as inevitably befell in those days. 

“ Who would have believed all this could happen, in a 
little year?” thought Gwin, as sitting at her mother’s 
feet, she regarded the company ; Archie at Percy’s side 
— that was all delightfully settled, now, except with Rose 
who could not understand why Mrs. Yorke was not pres- 
ently to be her mother too ; Ned leaning^ over Betty’s 
chair and talking earnestly ; Roy initiating Rose into the 
delightful mystery of a new game. Ned glancing up, 
observed Gwin’s thoughtful face, fancied she looked 
deserted, and called out at once, — 

“We want you, Mistress Gwin. There is no one like 
you for assisting at agreeable conspiracies. The question 
is how can we manage to set up a Christmas tree lor the 
small La Guingas without risking a premature discovery 
of Santa Claus’ designs ?” 

“ We might ask them up here to an early tea on 


•jt 


THE OLD HOUSE 


346 




Twelfth Day,” said Gwin ; “ and have the windows 
darkened.” 

“ Excellent ! The things shall be sent up. You agree 
to help with the trimming of the tree, do n’t you ?” 

“ Oh, yes ; and to provide fruit for some of its branches. 
We have a basket full of presents for Vanna.” 

“ Rose betrayed the fact to me, and so influenced me 
in behalf of the fortunate ‘ god-child ' of Sweet Briars, 
that I have ventured to contribute my mite to the Christ- 
mas possessions of Rose-Marie.” 

“ I will make a grand Twelfth cake for the occasion ;” 
said Betty. “ It shall be stuffed with currants, rich and 
knobby with frosting and sugar plums, and ornamented 
with a circle of lighted candles, all in the good old 
fashion.” 

“ And why should we not borrow a pretty Christmas 
custom, to grace our ‘ Little Christmas ’ celebration ? 
In Europe I saw a very charming usage which we might 
adopt. We should all be singing a Carol, when Rose, 
drest like an angel in flowing white drapery, with wings, 
enters. She bears in her hand a stem of white lilies ; on 
her head a myrtle crown concealing a circlet of tiny 
lighted tapers. As we sing, she silently leads the way, 
we following, to the room where the Christmas tree 
stands, and then, while every one is lost in admiration 
and rapture at its glittering splendor, she mysteriously 
vanishes.” 

“ We will have the Christmas angel, by all means,” 
Betty decided, and while Ned proceeded to give her 
minute directions how to construct the wings, that diffl- 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


347 


cult part of an angel’s 'wardrobe, Gwin discovered her 
sister’s Christmas book, and curiously turned over its 
leaves. 

When silence and darkness had fallen upon the house, 
and every one in it ought to have been wrapped in slum- 
bers, Gwin whispered, — 

“ Are you asleep, Betty ?” 

“ No, dear ; but what keeps you awake ?” 

“ I have so many things to think of. What a difference 
a year makes when girls get to our age ! Mother says 
Percy is to be married in May. Only think ! she is to 
belong to some one beside us, and to be taken away 

from home ! Betty, when a girl has a lover, do 

you think it changes her heart towards her old loves?” 

“ No, indeed, darling ; I think it makes her heart 
deeper, and richer, if she has a true-love grow up in it,” 
Betty answered softly. 

After a silence Gwin began in a carefully cool tone, 
as one making a suggestion of things possible but hardly 
probable, — 

“ Yon would not let it make any difference between us, 
if such a thing should ever happen to you, dear ?” 

“ I would say that I must love you all the better, only 
I do n’t see how that could be.” 

Another longer silence again broken by Gwin, — 

*' Do you know that The Lady in that lovely poem 
has your very own face, Betty ?” 

" Dear,” said Betty drowsily, “ we ought to go to 
sleep. There is so much to be done to-morrow.” 

A May morning, rosy with tender blushes as a bride, 


34 s 


THE OLD HOUSE 


dawned over the hills, and flushed the blossoming or- 
chards that were all arrayed in bridal white. 

While yet the springing grass and budding foliage 
glistened with dew, and the birds were making drowsy 
stir in their leafy coverts, there were signs of life and 
activity unusual at that hour, even on May Day morning. 

Miss Minty, abroad before that earliest pf birds the 
lark had finished his beauty sleep, came rustling across 
the dew empearled fields, her changeable, gold and 
plum-colored silk carefully tucked up, a posy in her 
hair, and a festival gladness shining in her face. 

Roy, in scrupulously full-dress toilette, came from the 
house to meet her and conducted her in-doors, where 
the pair at once fell to work, helping Rhoda arrange the 
wedding breakfast, and garlanding the bride-cake and 
the table with vines of smilax, and knots of apple and 
plum blossoms. 

In the bride’s bower, the mother and sisters were 
carefully tiring the bride. Betty knelt to tie the silken 
sandals ; Mrs. North fastened the misty veil * Gwin 
brought the wreath of orange buds and blossoms, which 
Mrs. Yorke had sent ; and Rose, a little bride-maiden 
crowned with white and rosy hawthorne, took solicitous 
care cf the bride’s bouquet. 

The clouds of tulle fell around Percy, the wreath was 
placed on her bright hair, and instead of herself she saw 
in the mirror a figure which Gwin hailed as “ a vision 
of loveliness — something between an angel and a fairy.” 

The raptures were cut short by Rhoda who entered, 
bringing a small basket, which had just come for Betty. 


ON BRIAR HILL. 


349 


She withdrew the paper cover, and revealed a wreath of 
jessamine on a bed of moss, beside ah exquisite bouquet 
of snowy narcissis the stems of which were clasped in a 
holder of frosted silver. 

“ Delicious ! charming ! Where did they come from !” 
were the exclamations that assailed Rhoda. 

“ Mr. Rutledge sent ’em with his compliments.” 

“ Any one might have guessed that, ” said Gwin. “ He 
has such a way of serving up dainty delightfulnesses ! ” 

“ I suppose I ought to wear them, ” said Betty, tenderly 
lifting the garland. 

“ Of course you must. They are a thousand times love- 
lier than your violets.” 

“ I shall arrange them for you, myself, ” said Percy, 
rising. “ Sit down here, Bettine. Now Gwin — the 
flowers. ” 

The bride placed the jessamine wreath on the dear 
head, then stooping, fondly kissed the softly glowing 
cheeks ; and the mother looking on at the pretty panto- 
mime thought something concerning “ my Betty ” which 
made her smile and sigh. 

But on this day of happy bustle, no moment was made 
for indulgence in regrets. 

Another tap sounded at the door, and in swept a little 
lady, magnificent in a court-train of richest, creamy bro- 
cade, sprinkled with bunches of pinks and love-knots, a 
stomacher of priceless old, yellow lace adorning the trim 
bodice, lappets of lace and ostrich-tips half concealing 
her silvered hair. She advanced with impressive digni- 
ty, bearing in her hands an antique casket, which she 


35o 


THE OLD HOUSE 


presented with a speech to Percy. She began formally, 
with a little history about the relic having belonged to her 
mother, and been later regarded by herself and her sistei 
as their mutual property, as neither had married, but she 
broke down, and concluded affectionately with a tear, 
rolling over her withered cheek * 

“A valuable heir-loom — from Aunt Sylvie and myself, 
my dear — with our love, it has descended to the eldest 
daughter of the house for many generations. It was a 
custom of the family for her to wear it on her wedding 
day. I know it is the present fashion for a bride to wear 
no ornament but flowers — yet you will gratify me in 
retaining this observance, I am sure.’ 1 

Aunt Pen solemnly raised the beautiful carcanet of 
pearls from its satin bed, and, as if it were a stately cere- 
mony, to be reverently performed, herself clasped it about 
Percy’s fair throat. 

Miss Penelope would rather have died than to have 
parted with a single treasured relic of the proud and 
palmy days of her race, except on an occasion, and in a 
manner like this. 

Roy and Ned were to act as bride-men, also a hand- 
some ycung brother of the latter who had petitioned 
Percy to accept him as Rose’s cavalier, having been deep- 
ly smitten with that darling maiden’s rosebud charms. 

At last word came that all the friends were arrived, 
and the hour had struck. Archie led forth his bride, 
whom Ned greeted as “ love-in-a-mist " ; the procession 
formed, and Rose and her laddie marshaled the way 
through the garden paths to the old plum tree, which had 


/ 

ON BRIAR HILL. , 35 1 


clothed Its gnarled branches with a white drift of odor- 
ous bloom. 

Under its light shade the bride took her stand sur- 
rounded by her attendants. A hush fell upon the group. 
•The pastor advanced and in sweetly solemn tones began 
the ceremony. As, at the conclusion, he lifted his hands 
above the two bowed heads in benediction, and while the 
words yet lingered on his lips, the sun rose m splendor over 
the mountain crest md shed upon the world the blessing 
of his golden smile. Gay congratulations followed, and 
the long drawn out festivities of the wedding breakfast. 
After the bride-cake was duly cut by Percy, her two 
mothers bore her away o dress (or the wedding lourney. 
An impatient young husband presently carried her off to 
the waiting carriage, and hidden music, another of Ned’s 
happy devices, breathed the delicious, mazy strains of the 
bridal procession from Lohengrin as the pair fared forth 
to their honey-moon. 

The younger guests were already eager over the bride- 
cake In search of the prophetic ring. 

Ned pretended to find it, gravely producing a massive 
circlet of gold, which he begged Betty to accept. Al- 
ready he had whispered something in her ear which 
seemed to justify the gift even to her fastidious notions 
of propriety. 

With the ring in her hand and him by her side, she 
sought her mother ; her head drooping, her voice falter- 
ing as she said : “ Ned has found this, and given it to me. 
May 1 wear it, mother?” 

“May I wear her — in my heart of hearts — mother? ’ 


35 2 THE OLD HOUSE ON BRIAR HILL. 


asked Ned, in tones so thrilled with joyousness, with eyes 
so fond and pleading, that Mrs. North could but stretch 
out her hand to him and whisper her consent with quiv- 
ering lips. The action was eloquent in which he bent 
and kissed the gracious hand that bestowed such gifts. 

“Why, that isn’t the real ring at all’ ‘ exclaimed 
Gwin, running up to the group, eager to prevent mis- 
takes. She had heard a rumor of Ned’s pretended good 
fortune. “ It’s a trick, sir I put the ring into he cake 
with my own hands, and I know all about it. You need 
not flatter yourself that you are going to deceive fate that 
way, and be the next to marry.” 

“Very well. Then I warn you, Mistress Gwin, that I 
shall try to forestall her, — for I shall do my best 'o have 
the next wedding my own. Even if have to propose on 
the spot.” 

He looked so quizzical — so aggravatingly, mysteriously 
blissful — that Gwin tossed her head and answered him 
with defiant sauciness : 

“ Do — if you dare ! There’s no one here would have 
you, — is there, Bettine ?” 

She, finding no word ready, her lover betrayed all by 
saying, softly : 

“ Answer her, Lady Bertha.” 


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